They longed for existence beyond their own, for a world wherein they could just finally find peace. They found that in Soran, the world they took from the fallen Angel and his plaything who suckled upon the angel’s cock like a babe to a bottle. His defeat, and the defeat of those who sided with him was resounding and swift - and as they stood upon the surface of their new world, they watched the decaying corpses begin to shrivel. A long time since that fight ended, with the Angel standing still and allowing them to kill his friends, and eventually himself. Their thoughts shifted to that day, and perhaps that was what Singar intended - for himself to be killed, to finally know the peace of the final death. It seemed to be the case ,as they remembered the final blows that finished the attackers off. The man put up no fight at all, it was like he came to them for the sole purpose of dying. Given Singar’s track record, they’d been more than happy to oblige him. Now, they lingered on the surface of the planet they called home with nothing more than elation - they couldn’t sense the others anymore. Unsure of why, but happy all the same. They’d long since begun to think for themselves, with the Death of Idea. A major event in their history, for sure. Their freedom of thought returned to them, they’d begun to long for separation from he fold. Away from the mindless drones constantly working away their insignificant lives. Now they had that, they had their own lives their own home - and their own source of food. 

The Hellion of Val’gara sat quietly upon a rock face, watching out over the plains of Soran with eyes half-closed, as the sun sat in the distance. His fingers tapped idly along the surface of the stone, and he watched as The Voidmistress played with their children below - years after the death of Singar, they still brought their children here to tell them the story of the time the weaklings decided to try and take their freedom from them - they told them as bedtime stories, for their children to understand the value of freedom and of home. Of being their own people, their own beings. Azaroth and Isaak didn’t linger long afterward, they chose to continue their quest for a home - taking The Chrysaor with them. Too bad, really. They’d return from time to time, and sit upon the rocks floating above the ground that were once called the Entropic Passages, and they’d catch up on the stories of their travels. The kids loved seeing them, and they relished those visits fondly. In fact, it was drawing near to time for another visit, actually. Hellion watched the sun going down int he distance, and lamented on the happiness his life wrought him - though he still wondered if he’d ever find the man who gave them the gift. 

Once, Hellion sought him out for the pure sake of returning his make-shift Father to the fold. Now, though, Hellion simply wanted to kill him. To watch his body writhe as he crushed his throat in his hands, and tore the soul from his body with his teeth. The great gnashing of teeth and claws guided him into his dreams, as he lay back on the rocks and closed his eyes - the colorful world below fading to gray as he faded into the world of dreams, just beyond the precipice of his current life. It was there the voices began again, and at first he thought it nothing more than a nightmare. He convulsed in his sleep, as the words spoke with him mind-to-mind. 

<”Hellllliooooon, time to wake up”> The slow voice whispered into his mind, boring deep through into this soul - or what remained of it, anyway. <”Wake up, Hellion…there’s work to be done. Your work is not done yet, just because you’ve wiped out a few measly Sorans and one of the weakest demons Hell could spit out, doesn’t mean you get to rest.”> Hellion fought against it, fought to remain asleep. To hope it was all a dream, to remain with his eyes closed off from what he knew lurked just outside of his lids - the presence he felt as he slumbered. He fought against awakening, but for the first time in a long time; he lost a fight. His eyes opened, and above him - casting a great shadow across the landscape sat the horrific monstrosity that was, for lack of a better term, their brother. 

‘Hello, Tsathoskr…fanc…fancy seeing you here.” Hellion’s voice shook for a moment, before he regained his composure - already reaching out through the cosmos to summon his brothers. If the monstrosity came for a fight, he’d need all the help he could get - Tsathoskr’s might was far and beyond his and Caitlyn’s alone. “What can I do for you?” He said more confidently, as he felt the close-presence of the others already nearby. 

<”You need not search for your brothers, Hellion, I brought them here for you.”> Tentacle-like offshoots of the creature extended, setting the feet of the rest of the Collective on the outcropping before him - snake-like tendrils burrowing into the backs of their skulls. <”They’ve already returned to the fold, came home if you will. Now, you and Caitlyn must return home as well.”> 

“We don’t want any part of this fight, Tsathoskr. We’ve told you, we’ve told all of you. We’re out. We’re done.” Hellion stepped back, already pulling the planet into him - the Mist-form of Soran, converted since the defeat of the would-be invaders, pulling into his body compounding upon himself. Adding power to his reserves, he reached out to the minds of his brothers and of his wife. He sought their power, to pull it into himself. Caitlyn was there, just under the hill with their children - and yet he couldn’t reach her. Couldn’t feel her. He blinked, and in that time Tsathoskr lashed out. Another tendril, quick as a flash, attached to the back of his skull - to Caitlyn’s. The kids screamed, and were silenced in that same moment as Tsathoskr simply willed them to stop existing - and they broke down into the Mist that comprised their bodies - a simple trick of Hellion’s, to give the illusion of happiness to the barren wasteland that was Caitlyn’s womb. 

<”You don’t have a choice, Collective. You belong to me.”> Tsathoskr moved them to stand side by side, their bodies attached through the medium that was the great being’s tentacle-like tendrils. It did what any good Val’garan entity would do. It converted. It consumed. It controlled. Its power bore through them like a flame amongst kindling, rending their freedom from them once again. It broke down the basic memories of Idea being gone, and replaced them with the single-minded thought that Tsathoskr was their God, that they could not disobey their god. They stood for what seemed an eternity, unmoving - until the tendrils retracted back into the mass of horror that hung in the air before them. Their bodies fell limp, as if all of their bones turned to mush in that moment. Light flickered in their eyes, orange and red - ever rotating to and fro in their iris - the light pouring from their mouths. A blazing inferno inside of their bodies, rending them, flaying their bodies from the inside out - only to rebuild them in that same instant. 

Hellion was the first to awaken from the gut-wrenching pain, coming to his senses and standing. He looked at their God,and then looked down at his comrades - until finally he turned his internal sight upon his own body. He let his mind flow from himself into the others, they were there - but they were…different. He was different. Faster, stronger…he could feel it as he checked himself over - and he felt the heat of the magic flowing through him. Something he’d never known, power aside from his mutation - the magic flowed through his body as easily as traffic on a nearly-deserted highway. The magic burned his blood, boiled through the Mist. It flowed like a river along the bed, and he lavished the power scouring his essence. His mind opened to a power he’d long since forgotten existed, another memento of a battle - though one he could have arguably called a loss. 

The water of the Dark Realm comprised a fair bit of his Mist, but it was cleansed of any outside influence - and answered only to him. The memories and magic locked within them were his, and his alone. Yet another remnant of a defeat given to one of Singar’s pathetic minions. He used that power now, flowed it from his body into the bodies of his compatriots. Their forms rose from the ground, and they - in unison - turned to look upon the face of their benefactor. 

“What would you have us do, Tsathoskr.” They spoke with one voice, an eerily harmonious sound. It pierced the silence like heroin-filled needles piercing the flesh of hookers on the street, as they prepared to make their meal money. The entity didn’t answer with words, or thoughts. Only a mental command, a simple one - yet powerful. Convert. Consume. Control. They understood the command, the mantra. It was their reason for existing for years, before their freedom - and now it would become that once more. They lifted their hands in unison, pointing them toward the plains before them - their power flowed into them from their master - and then out through their outstretched palms. In a blinding flash of light, so brilliant and powerful that it was picked up light-years away by sensors surrounding a flesh-world, Soran imploded upon itself. The core of the planet stopped rotating, and then simply crashed downward - the remainder of it following. It sucked upon itself, until nothing remained where once resided an entire planet - when the smoke settled, and the dust cleared - nothing remained except a body. 

A body that seemed to have rested there for unknown centuries, a myth brought to life. Hellion looked at it with emotionless eyes, and a canted head. He looked upon the figure curled into the fetal position, clearly sleeping with disgust and distrust. “What is that?” 

<”That is nothing for you to be concerned about, child.”> In truth, even Tsathoskr had no idea what this being inside the planet’s core could have been - for all its knowledge of magic and power, it’d never run across anything saying something lived within the core of Soran. <”Regardless, your work is not done. We must go, Anathema awaits. They all wait.”> Tsathoskr opened a portal there in he air, and pulled the Collective through it. It began to shut behind them, even as the single beings merged into one - as they entered the Faultverse. The being in the core watched it shut, his eyes just beginning to open as they stepped through into the darkness beyond it. His mind already pinpointed the location, and he already intended to follow - what he felt on the other side, the power contained within - and the power it took to blow up his prison…he needed that power. 


[b]Inside the Faultverse[/b]


The Collective emerged behind Tsathoskr into the chaos, the remainder of their civilization already there - except, of course, for Singar - whose body now floated in a thousand pieces in the debris of Soran’s vivisected remains. They looked upon the glory of the battlefield, truly a sight to behold for an entity based entirely upon war. They longed to join the fight, but they were not yet given the command to live out their purpose. They stood silently, watching, waiting. The amalgamation of their single bodies into one gave them an appearance akin to Tsathoskr’s, only far less…gargantuan. Its body was massive, though - dwarfed here only by the size of Tsathoskr - and the Sons of idea. It stepped forward, turning its hundred melting eyes toward the monster. “What would you have us do, Tsathoskr.” The cacophony of voices emitting from a single being was terrifying, horrendous. More akin to the screams of tormented souls than any perceptible human languages. 

<”Your job, Collective. Your job.”> They nodded their oozing pus-filled two heads, and their tree-sized legs began to carry them forward, into the fray of battle. Even now, they were unsure of what they were coming into contact with. They stepped to the front of the Cataclysm, their de-facto leader in this situation. As they were during the events of the first confrontation with Singar, where the other killed their Mother. “ATTACK!” It screamed, still unsure of what exactly their target was intended to be - unless it was supposed to be everything. Of course, that’s what the Horde did. They attacked everyone and anyone who got in their way, lashing out with a fury born of a species who only knows hunger - and the desire to feast upon the dead. They collapsed upon everything, with a great gnashing of teeth and clawing of talons they began their rampage through whatever stood in front of them. 


[b]The Collective[/b]

Its massive body stood upon the precipice of war - and it watched GalaXelas, already the Faultverse was succumbing to the Mist around his body - corrupting to his influence, even as it purged and purified any other influence upon it. It would take time, but in time The Collective would become the only entity within this realm with power - save for those he chose to share it with. Something pulled at him, something emanating from the soul of their mother - something drawing him to the body of GalaXelas, and he resisted. His command was to fight the monstrosity, not to let it seduce him, draw him in. It resisted, but something kept calling, kept pulling. Suddenly, the pull seemed to just stop - seemed to no longer try to seduce him into GalaXelas. He wasn’t sure what happened, until he searched within himself - and found nothing. No virus, and yet his mutations remained. He looked at his hands, the scarred mass of flesh trapped in endless regeneration and incineration still looked the same. Yet, something within him was..different. Something missing, a piece of him no longer whole. 

The Collective laughed, a loud, genuine laugh.