Their true target escaped, but did that mean they held nothing to accomplish here? Disciple, who should have died long ago, remained upright and walking. He still pervaded their existence with the horrific nature of his warped mind. He saw them as traitors? As dejectors to the cause they once shared? Was it not Disciple who, in his ignorance sided with their enemy? One who hailed from the same place as the one who murdered their Father? Was it not Singar who, in his eternal struggle for validation, turned Thane against them? Killed their mother? Disciple aligned himself with the one who killed Mother, but called them the traitors? It was laughable, or would be if it wasn't so damned sad. Truthfully, they held no care or love for Will - though through him they regained their virus, they regained their power.
Will brought them back together, offered them unity and loyalty. What had Disciple done? Alienated them, sought to put an end to their desire to see their family truly unified, rather than put under the thumb of some false prophet kicked out of his own home for his stupid choices. Singar was nothing more than a failed experiment, some ignorant child who blamed everyone for his failures except the one truly at fault - himself. Were he stronger, were he smarter, he wouldn't have been cast forth from his home in the way he was. He wouldn't be on his father's shit list.
He would be worthy. And yet, he wasn't any of those things. He was nothing more than a scalded child throwing a temper tantrum. Hellion found no remorse, or sympathy, for those types. Disciple saw them as traitors, but in honesty Disciple and Thane betrayed them long before they fought against the ignorance of their supposed tyranny. The mere thought of it all brought Hellion's rage to full bear, and the ground rumbled with the force of it. The Mist trembled with pure rage, unadulterated and unfiltered. That wasn't to say his attention wasn't fully focused around him. Eight attention spans interlocked and interconnected through the Psionic Link shared between himself and The Collective made for heightened capabilities in that regard.
Even as the swords appeared in the sky, the magic that fueled them failed. The Voice of the Void smoke, a disembodied sound permeating through the Mist, resonating and shaking the very ground. Every living creature on Soran could hear it, and it brought many of them to the ground in screams of sheer terror. They knew the Envoy of the End when they heard it, they couldn't not. It wasn't long ago that a similar force of nature ripped the Entropic Passages from the surface of their planet, pulling them free like a child ripping a lego set to pieces. That power was far beyond what they could create, and they feared it like mortal man feared their false Gods.
The Void absorbed the magic powering the swords appearing all around them, diffused it. Purified it and absorbed it, rendering it effectively non-existent. It was a pathetic attempt, and Singar should have known better. No amount of magic, decadent of otherwise, could sustain the Void. Far more powerful wizards than him tried, and they failed just the same. It was pathetic, but what could Caitlyn truly suspect from such an atrociously inept creature? Disinterest painted all their faces, they expected a fight and this man brought to bear magic that was useless? The creatures of Soran were no smarter, their own magic fell useless - and unfortunantely for them the psychic shields couldn't withstand the Mist they flowed through for long.
Cracking, faltering and failing they soon found the Mist pouring into their pores. The faeries, the dragons. They fell from the sky like locusts in a plague. Their bones crunched to dust with the impact of their bodies on the ground. Sarach and Agron fired their assaults, and yet those too fell useless. The manipulation of bioforce was something the Collective did well, it was their main source of food. Their energy. Their strength. Caitlyn's vast void opened like the maw of some great, ethereal beast. The sinuous red lines forming fang-like structures, as it closed over the headlong rush of Sarach - and ate the beam of Agron. The manipulation of spiritual energies was the same as any other magical manifestation. To assume it would be any more effective against the Void than any other form of magic was pure ignorance.
Sarach's headlong rush, ill-advised and horrible only trapped it within the inescapable prison of Caitlyn's void. If it could see, hear, and feel all it would see was blackness, all it would hear was the sound of silence brokenly only by the screams of the devoured. All it would feel was the intense dread and loneliness of its never-ending death. The beam of Agron, devoured as it was, perhaps would continue firing once the maw closed around - though it didn't matter. Agron flowed through the Mist-covered ground, the planet was infected by this point. Perhaps it could be salvaged, but the ground all around them had Mist flowing over, and through it. Agron held no more protection from its manipulations than the creatures of Soran had. It might not die, but the beam fizzled out. It found itself unable to fire it, the Mist closed it off - locked it tightly and kept it from moving or fighting back.
Hellion, however, still hadn't moved. The blown apart bits of tree flowed through his body like a rock through smoke. Not touching, not even rendering as a remote threat. Finally, though, he decided it was time to move. Singar appeared before him, attempting to appear aloof and uninterested in what was happening. The facade was just that, and easily seen for what it was - but Hellion paid it no mind. He cared little for the man's sword. Swords were useless against him, especially if Singar thought to bring them to bear in the same methods as the ones floating in the sky above them - which were as useless as the man who summoned them.
Disciple they ignored, but Singar...Singar was the one who sought to end their existence. Singar was the root of the evil flowing through Val'gara. Hellion moved with a speed nigh imperceptible, right hand dropping and then lifting, index finger pulling back in the same second. The resonating sound of his Tyrant Gun firing was enough to put a concussive crack in the ground beneath him - though his body remained unfazed. A few feet away from Singar, it hung motionless in the air - before an explosion brought to bear the focused singularity that was the Grammaton-Hammer.
Hopefully Singar was strong enough to withstand the event horizon, or he would find himself reunited with his precious Sarach sooner than he would have liked.