During his passage through Soran’s atmosphere, the scarlet-tinted sapphire that was Taluge’s eyes, and basic method of detecting external signatures, picked up on a hazardous substance that was [b]apparently[/b] existing in a benign state. Unwilling to chance a false reading, the beast cautiously chose to activate his ley-lines, creating an oval-shaped shield, the same color as his eyes around his body, ensuring safe passage for himself. The Stalker also caught wind of the Mist--recognizing it by the sheer malignancy of its very nature--to infect, corrupt, and absorb whatever it could overtake into itself, in addition to simply remembering what it felt like to have it flowing through his veins during his time with Hellion in the Entropic Passages. Closing his eyes in momentary remembrance of that past, a surge of positive bio-force flowed passively off his skin, gathering together to form a spherical pattern of protective tortoise plates, only much stronger, and far more reinforced. It prevented the Mist from touching the Stalker’s body, as he likewise shoved the memories of his past to a dark corner of his mind, and began to construct a wall with which to lock them in. He could not afford to wallow in regret any longer...it was time to rebuild that which had had broken; his resolve hardened, and his eyes reopened to take in the real darkness of outer-space.

--

The Corruptor's blinking perambulations ceased, his gait changing slightly as he proceeded to traverse the remaining distance to the awaiting Collective with fully grounded steps. It took nothing beyond his mere nature as a divine being to sense the psychic emanations radiating off the bastards like a blightful beacon, broadcasting their malice across all of Soran. This... [i]"Will"[/i] of Idea thought itself a higher being - one who could inspire - but in Singar’s eyes he was little more than insufficient kindling, no greater than the dimly glowing cinders with whom he sought to ignite into fires of burning grandeur. He had witnessed this type of arrogance before in his brother, Lucifer, the Archangel who had begat the events leading up to the current apocalypse about to transpire here, likewise seeing it again on a continent to the far south.

The past can be [i]so[/i] unforgiving.

[i]”Is that not right, Kala?”[/i]

Though brief, the jab taken at him by the monster beneath Cocytus’ rubble caused Singar’s nostrils to flare, head canting to the grass at angle that only vaguely allowed his gritted teeth to show. In that instance, he remembered himself plummeting through the clouds, the golden gates of Heaven growing farther away with each second, at a speed that would have been astonishing to a mere mortal. Unlike humans, who wished to ascend and reach a place beyond their Earthly domain, for the longest time Kalaziel had simply wanted to return [i]home[/i], until he finally realized that his heart--like the gates, was beyond his reach--that he had abandoned any hopes of reuniting with his father, because any love he had for him became burnt to a crisp by his “fellow” fallen. Since that time, he had learned to rely on his [i]own[/i] sense of justice, never again choosing to dole it out in another’s name,[i]God[/i] or otherwise. The Collective were hardly any different from his own kin, for they too sought to usurp power, and as for the Will? His existence was a hubris comparable to Satan himself, and in terms of his ambition, when placed in the same light as the Morningstar’s...few things could be more ironically insulting in its justice.

[i]”You say that as though your suffering is over,”[/i] Singar affirmed to the Devil, his head rising again to see the sunlight shining down on the Collective through an aperture in the clouds. At the same time, he felt his connection to Taluge and Thane abruptly cease, like there was something between he and them, at which point he became aware of the quarantine zone surrounding Soran, and his expression became viciously pronounced.

[i]”See that?”[/i] Corruptor asked tauntingly, [i]”their warped souls, just like your arrogance, knows no bounds.”[/i]

Now more enlightened to the situation, the doors to Singar’s mind opened, unleashing a rolling wave of psychic force that collided directly with the one let forth from Hellion. Though brief, the impact was tremendous, causing the air itself to ripple with violent discharges of intense static electricity that surged into the surrounding trees. The temperature of the moisture contained within them skyrocketed, superheating it to an unbearable degree, leading to the trunks bursting in a spray of bark, branches, and exploding, telekinetically curving around his frame. Concurrently, and with a haste that seemed to accentuate the chaotic atmosphere, the dark cracks in the earth became a bit less dark as a faint blue light began to fill them, quickly becoming more luminous. The sound of something bubbling followed its way up the fissures, accompanied by a steamy hiss issuing out of the lesser cracks, finally culminating in emergence of a spiritual substance that was all too rapidly taking on a more tangible state-- a mass of countless, seething boils, the form of which was comparable to a dense liquid, that held strong cohesion as it rose to full view. This essence within the rock’s name was Agron, and as it had done in its battle with Megalodon, and its clownfish partner, so too would it bring the fury of the planet earth down onto the heads of the Collective; its ferocity manifesting as a conflagration of its blue aura activating in defensive response to Hellion’s mental flexing.  Against such force, the aura frothed with the excess of Agron’s still-escalating rage, deliberately giving way to the ex-Herald’s downward press and fell inward, pushing down on the terrain, whilst using its fine control over geology to shape several enormous, interconnected craters. 

Flying high above Agron was the rock serpent, Sarach, who earlier had accompanied the shape-shifter in its battle against the Sharkborg, the red diamond structure of its eyes, and the rigid towers protruding from its back flowing with crimson ether, the source of power which kept it aloft as it flew through the stormy sky. Despite its shy nature, which was in stark contrast to Agron’s, Sarachians exhibited far more aggression and hostility when faced with a threat, hence why its aura glowed red, showcasing its lack of fear whilst also using the pointed shape of its body in conjunction with the protruding towers as a means of cleaving through what it perceived as an attack on its being.

During the brief exchange of psychic flaunting, Singar became aware of the Mist surrounding the planet, and an insidious plot took root in his mind. From that root, a thousand, million, billion, trillion, numbers that rendered the very act of counting completely and utterly obsolete in this state; gold hilted knight’s swords, sheathed in silver scabbards, bearing runes resembling wavy lines glimmered into existence, not just across the Liaita but the arrowhead continent of Aeros to the east, the frozen tundra of Thanus to the north, the towers of Kinji which circled  Soran’s equator and reached into space. Over the hilly jungles of Jani, and the living nightmare continent of Ghethos to the west, and at last, the south pole of Athans - land of the Fading Plains that had not-too-recently descended back to ground level, courtesy of a broken curse that Singar himself had lifted off the land’s prince.

With the exception of several thousand that burrowed underground, at an angle facing Singar’s front, the sheathed swords ascended like silver missiles, the runic lines carved into the scabbards surging with an ominous red energy, indicating the presence of a decadent magic coursing throughout them. Lightning crackled and the scabbards slid off, flipping over so that their openings face upright, producing a powerful force of suction which funneled the poisoned rain into a void, draining the sky of the malignant Mist. This was only the beginning, for as the Midnight Fog seeped out of the raindrops covering the scabbards, the rune-based symbols displayed a brief, ominous message, heralding the activation of a virulent spell, before the entrance was completely sealed over by the Fog.

[color=ed1c24]השבור יהפוך שוב לשלמות, ובשלמות, במוות.
העיוור העיוור ייפול קורבן לשחיתות שלו.
[/color]

Ultimately the Collective was just scum masquerading as ash floating atop the surface of a stagnant pond. The Disciple also knew just as well that when the fools relinquished what little kindling they had left within their souls, that when they expelled the Vesuvian Virus from their bodies, that they were no longer Val’garans. Now, in their heretical zeal, they sought to besmirch the Cataclysm under a false flag by committing wanton murder, all in the name of power, all while seeking to gain dominance over the last, hidden remnant of Idea’s legacy: Colossus. In insulting her, in trying take control over her, in trying to make up for a monumental failure to protect Mire, they dishonored Idea by choosing to throw childish tantrums. Scum floating on the surface of a fetid pond would never be able to understand the oceanic depths of love, of devotion to race, of family, so perfectly and painfully exemplified when Idea sacrificed himself to protect his children.

Were the Collective willing to do the same?

Though the Disciple had once hoped that in their time away from each other, the Collective might repent, and change their ways in favor of a unified Val’gara, it had abandoned hope the moment the Will plucked it from its prison and snapped its neck. Now they were rotten to the core, and all the Disciple could do now was try to preserve what little unity that was left--and, unity he would indeed preserve, even if it meant aligning himself with the children of Soran, if only temporarily. His tentacles unfurled and extended like an eagles wings, casting an empathic psychic line out that would reinforce speak into the minds and wills of those seeking to oppose the Collective. Initially he was met with caution and apprehension, but as he tapped into the memories of this world’s inhabitants, the Herald of Colossus bore witness to the Aptosite invasion, and in doing so, was provided insight as to the nature of the Raging Singularity, and to a lesser extent, why he had been willing to allow Singar to protect his home in his absence.

Moving on, the Disciple capitalized on the events which proceeded it by peering into the memories of those who had bore witness to the invasion of the Entropic Passages by the Stalker, Hellion, and Beelzebub, back when they were all still on the same side. While just as hostile toward each other as ever, back then, the Heralds at least retained their sense of loyalty to one another, and the absence of it today filled the Disciple with an unrelenting sensation of lament, coupled with a need to make sure that [i]’the bonds of family’[/i] -- as he would imagined Thane might phrase it -- to [i]never[/i] be broken again. It was only when its mind brushed against Singar’s, that Disciple’s attention was drawn over to Cocytus, and felt its heart palpitate with dread, fully understanding the nature of Corruptor’s motivations.

Now steeled in its resolve, Disciple witnessed a plume of obsidian dust fizzle out in front of it, the energy it contained dispersing along an impulsively erected telekinetic shield, one which he extended to Agron, Sarach, the dragons, the fairies, the elves, all of whom were coming out in droves and readying themselves for battle. While not one to rely on his opponent’s carelessness, Singar did take pride in knowing that he had indeed calculated correctly. When Narcissus had arrogantly tried to smear Eden with his abhorrent vitae by using right the Hand of God as his vessel, he ignored the fact that Singar too had touched it with his runic strings, which caused sickness and decay to all who made contact with them. By trying to take the power for himself, without the proper protection, it was if he were a foul, self-loathing spirit, that for some depraved reason, chose to fuse the [b]left[/b] hand of a peasant, who lacking the miracle of toilet paper, dragged their hand repeatedly across their asshole after consuming the ribs of a sheep who they had neglected to let thaw first, causing the resulting feces to become acidic.

Suffice to say, that the all-seeing eye was reluctant to use His remaining [i]left[/i] hand to cover his sight, and Singar’s scathingly smug look of satisfaction, the feeling coming off quite noticeably to Disciple, who deduced what he had done with moderate success.

A red barrier formed over Eden, baring the impression of the Stillborn on its surface, mocking its words, its movements, all the while, the Vesuvian Virus pulled the sickness plaguing Eden’s bark up through its branches. At the branches tips, seedlings grew, swelled, and sprouted obsidian apples, functioning as a container for the magical disease, and would in time serve as a tool in the future harvests.

[i]”Denizens of Soran,”[/i] the Disciple projected out to all, “these monsters who would betray their own kin, now seek to eradicate not just me, but ALL OF YOU from the face of existence.”

Above him, what few drops of poisoned rain that had made it through were rent to oblivion by the swords, alight with the purging flames of Hell that spun like rotary blades, evaporated heat emanating from the calderas formed by Agron, plumes of ash carrying its blue aura rising along with it.

The Will was a fraud, a false prophet who mocked unity by assembling those who had already severed themselves from the Cataclysm, but would soon feel the agonizing sting of separation once more. 

[i]”Aid me in this fight,”[/i] Disciple telepathically shouted, its bugle-shaped mouth expanding with its chest in a physical display of might, [i]”and together, we will wipe out this plague!”[/i]

From the west, where the ruined remains of Doloran lied in waste, a squad of sixteen of fairies riding iron scaled dragons flew toward the Collective, casting a net of interwoven magic, bound to the claws of their mounts split off in four directions. A quarter of the beasts held their westward position, while the other remaining twelve split apart into equal units, taking off in the other cardinal directions, spreading their net of binding overhead.

In the ocean, a lionfish and a crab fed side by side on the flesh growth that had poured into the ocean, only for the former to turn on the latter and engulf it in its mouth. Without realizing that it had also ingested the Vesuvian Virus, the lionfish found that its blade-shaped body began to flatten into the shape of its prey, pincers bursting through its side, scales morphing into a hardened exoskeleton while its eyes extended farther out from its head, mounted on tall stalks. The spines on its stood straight, dripping potent toxins flowing with bio-force, scanning the region before it with its eyestalks like a pair of periscopes. In no time at all, it scaled the bluffs, and began side-skittering in a thunderous charge, such was length of 2600 feet from pincer to pincer.

Unwavering in its pursuit, the Toxic Conqueror, mentally proclaimed itself as with its newfound sentience, smashed through trees and rocks like nothing with its heavily armored, scale-bladed carapace, swinging its pincers with reckless abandon. The Conqueror appeared so reckless, in fact, that it deliberately allowed itself to be fall into one of the calderas and be swallowed up, though a purple sheen infused into its carapace showed that it was indeed planning something.

By now, Singar had come within full view of Hellion, materializing two swords on either hip, a faint current of wind encircling the hilts as the Midnight Fog rose up out of the soil, and hovered mere inches off the grass. Ordinarily, he’d do to stay away from the Fog, but so long as he didn’t breathe it in, and took care to utilize the proper method of manipulation, he was confident, Corruptor was confident in his ability to make good use of its presence. For now, the gritted look he wore earlier had faded into one of apparent neutrality, unwilling to address the filth--instead he gripped the pommels of his two swords and waited, patiently.

Then without warning, a network of explosive eruptions took place across the whole of Liaita. Agron was launching its first volley of hardened magma boulders, each one covered in the creature’s blue aura, leaving long, molten trails of lava and etheric energy in their path. Impact with the Collective meant far more than just broken bones, and being reduced to a searing pulp. Despite the simplistic appearance of the attack, the blue aura was a spiritual weapon -- one that acted as a barrier against psychic, magic, and other forms of energetic offenses that were thrown at it, whilst simultaneously performing the function of pummeling the minds of its foes with all the might of a pissed off mountain.

Amidst all this chaos, amidst dragons who dropped their net, and all manner of ancient creatures, something absurd came flying at the Collective at a speed that appeared almost ludicrous. The Toxic Conqueror was riding one of the boulders with one pincer gripping the deadly projectile, narrowly (and seemingly carelessly), dodging a beam of destructive ether fired at the Collective by Sarach. Its barrier of bio-force, turned purple by its toxins shrunk and conformed to the contours of its exoskeleton shielding itself from the molten wrath, spines angling themselves in accordance to its flight-path as it blasted bio-force out behind, coating the boulder with an additional of layer of offense, and pushing itself to go faster. Letting go of the boulder, and gripping the molten rock as tightly as it could with its legs, the Conqueror angled its spines to cover its topside, jutting out past its anterior, forming a line of lancers covering its face and eyestalks like a makeshift helm, whilst firing globs of volatile bio-force that could paralyze bodies, and eat through energy from its pincers in a kamikaze style attack.