Zyamasiel

World-Killer

The Dominion Reigns –

Throughout the Multiverse exist a near infinite amount of cultures, each with their own subcultures and ideologies governing them. Some believe in the power and wonders of technology, they build upon themselves – and those who follow them – a society of pure, unadulterated advancement of their mechanical arts. Androids who fight their wars for them, machines that do every simple, mundane task you could ask of them. They worshipped the machines that govern their lives, and follow the word of living A.I.’s with the same rapt attention that brainwashed victims follow their masters. They do as they’re told, without question and without fail.

Lysander wasn’t one of those. No, he sought not to follow the way into technological advancement and instead focused on honing his own, internal, power. He’d done so for centuries, putting all his time and effort into focusing his strength, into refining his abilities. They weren’t natural. In fact, they were about as unnatural as one could get. Built inside of him by generations upon generations of mental anguish, physical pain, and psychological torment beyond measure. For a while, it’d driven him insane. He’d sought only to find himself from one fight to the next. One nation, one world. One universe. He’d traveled them all, found their best, and destroyed them like children confronted by an overly-abusive stepfather.

For millions of years he took what he wanted, did what he wanted. Without remorse or concern for anyone, or anything, involved. He sought only to utilize those arcane, supernatural abilities stolen from others – or gifted by Grandfather – to do whatever he wanted; often in ways that left broken, bloodied bodies behind him. In his wake, there came nothing but death and destruction, a thousand innocent worlds burned to ash all on the premise that he was bored. That boredom was never-ending, and damned awe-inspiring. In recent years, though, that changed. Once siphoning The Hellion of Val’gara he became whole again. Maybe it was the repairs made within his damaged mind by The Mist, or maybe he simply was confronted with someone so much more insane than he, and it snapped him back to reality.

Whatever the cause, the end effect was all the same. Still, that didn’t stop him from enjoying the fun he once found. Still he enjoyed destruction and mass murder. Not because he was insane, but simply because the sounds of broken-bodies slithering in their own blood, trying to escape to some semblance of safety when none existed was enjoyable. It pleased him to hear the curdling screams and the barely audible death-rattles as they came forth from the dying lips of whatever denizens of whatever world he happened to be around. And that’s where the story truly began. Though the story told was not a beginning, but an ending. And ending to a life well lived. But not his own, never his own.

Duryk City, Solaris II. Sientius System –

The city stretched out for most of the planet, a whopping eighty-percent of it covered in this sprawling metropolis. It was the center of the planet, the only place one could find anything they wanted, and so it was fitting that it rested upon the central planet of the system. It housed a billion citizens itself, and millions came and went throughout the day, which ran on a thirty-six-hour cycle. Without it, the system around would be nothing more than a backwater dump. It brought in people, it brought in business. It called out among the stars and flocking toward it came the most respected (and sometimes not so respected) people from light-years around. They came for barter, they came for pleasure.

And today, its call brought in him.

And with him they no longer came for pleasure or barter, they didn’t come to conduct business – shady or otherwise. No. They thought they did, they still thought their day would be filled with sight-seeing or business meetings. Some few thought they’d become billionaires this day, and even more thought they’d enjoy a nice, respectable picnic with their families. No. Not today.

Today they came to die

Just because he chose not to arm himself with technology, just because he didn’t worship it like God. Didn’t mean he didn’t use it. It didn’t mean he didn’t know how to utilize the weaponry of it. The applications were, after-all, too good to ignore. No. He chose to make himself into a weapon, but he chose to know how to use other weapons, as well.

Far above them, in orbit just outside of their scanner range, rested a massive ship. Its sheer size had it double any Dreadnaught class, and its firepower was just as impressive. But, the most impressive feature, was who was on it. It should have held thousands upon thousands of life-forms piloting it, controlling it. It should have had vital signs that would take days and weeks to sift through and determine who was who. Instead, on the massive ship, only one life-sign could be found. And it was literally on the ship. Not inside of it. On it. He stood on the massive bow of the ship, his arms crossed and his sword-without-a-blade slung over his back, held in place by a string of souls composed of men and women he’d killed. Some of them were even children.

More would be added soon.

His long, raven hair didn’t stir nor move in the vacuum of space. He showed no signs of the adverse effect of not having oxygen. In fact, he showed nothing at all. He simply was. His body sat there, watching. He expected opposition, but still none came. The problem with prolonged peace was that no one was ever ready for it to end, yet it would ALWAYS end. No matter what. Today, peace ended not with a single, solitary gunshot – but with a blast so powerful as to shake the very existence of the world.

Already, on the planet below, things were in motion. No one seemed to notice, or those who did kept quiet out of fear of being mistaken for insane. But, beneath their feet, from the buildings all around them, wherever light existed, shadows moved strangely. They no longer followed their hosts, but simply released their grip and flew straight toward the sky. They flew toward a single point, all converging in the darkness of space and flowing to a central location. Once they reached close enough, Lysander lifted his right hand and pulled them toward him with sheer mental might. They flew through his hand, into his body. They empowered him, they sated his thirst and his hunger. They sated his desire. They were his to control, his to command. He held them within him, converting them into a darkened energy source. Over and over they came, each leaving shadow being replaced by a new. For a moment he did this, he continued to do this.

Then, as abruptly as it began, it stopped. The shadows ceased their odd behavior, and they went about their mundane task of following their host. Lysander walked back across the top of his ship, and slipped into the shadow cast on an upturned piece of metal. In that same instance, he stepped out of the shadow of the console on the bridge – turning back to face it. A few, quick strokes of keys activated the onboard A.I., Anna. Named for the daughter he so brutally slaughtered a thousand years ago.

“Father, may I be of service?” The robotic female voice asked, a display showing a tiny, red-haired girl pulled up to rest on the top of the console.

“Arm the Exponential Thermostellar Bombs, prepare them for deployment”

A chime indicated his order was taken, and the display disappeared. For several moments he sat, waiting. Then, about a minute later, the computer display came back. The little girl’s face had a bright, cheerful smile. “Bombs armed, Father. Shall I deploy?” It only took a nod, and the bombs rocketed toward the planet. They sat in its atmosphere, which was similar, in many ways, to Earth’s own. The ship, though, was already turning after launch. The thrusters engaged.

“Detonate”

The planet incinerated in seconds. The explosion throughout the atmosphere sat it on fire, and the resulting chemical reactions rode on the winds as each molecule of oxygen and nitrogen, as each existing chemical compound capable of combustion – combusted. The chain reaction caused the planet to fall in on itself, and then explode back outward. An entire planet turned into a weapon when propelled with such force. How many surrounding worlds would fall to the debris field preparing to bombard them, he didn’t bother to calculate (though he could have, had he chosen). Instead, he punched in the code for warp speed, and hit the ignition switch. The ship’s powerful engines spooled up, roaring to life and vibrating the entire ship. Yet, he didn’t move. He couldn’t move. The ship simply refused to go anywhere. There was only one reason that could have happened.

“Daughter, report.”

“One life sign detected, Father. Query shows that this one might be a match for you, a challenge at the least.”

Who didn’t love a good fight when they could be bombarded with destructive debris at any moment? Of course, the only debris that could pass through the shields were too small to actually harm the ship itself. That didn’t mean that it couldn’t make for a damned lot of fun.

“Alright, Daughter. Light the beacon, let’s see if we can get them to come find us.”

The beacon stretched far beyond just one universe, and one system. It reached out to every universe, every single point in time. It called for the one who could challenge him, and only the one it sought out could take that ride that would bring them to his current location, hopefully they could breathe in space though – the beacon couldn’t deposit them inside the ship, its own defenses allowed no one to enter that wasn’t permitted. And only he was permitted.

Stepping through the shadows once again, he transported himself back to the top of his gargantuan world-killer, and sat down. Legs crossed, arms behind his head and his body leaning back on one of the massive rail-guns that ran along the viewing deck, which was metal. This section would be the location the beacon brought his adversary, and he waited in the area, which measured roughly a hundred feet long and forty-feet wide. He waited, and somehow…miraculously managed to light a cigarette. In space.

World-Killer

Mild Powers fight between [@Melon] and I.

The Colosseum Re-Opens

His hands clenched and his eyes never left the other’s. You could see everything you needed to see in a fight in the eyes of your opponent – besides he had insanely good peripheral vision. No great fighter stayed that way without it, after all. At first, he just stood there, sizing up the apparent fear at the appearance of a ghost. Especially one so known and renowned as Julius fucking Ceasar himself. Well, everyone who wasn’t used to this sort of thing would be afraid. He did have a fair advantage in that regard, having travelled as the slave of a God for so long, being put into fights he had no business being in – and seeing things no mortal man should have to see – he wasn’t put out when ghosts appeared.

But, apparently, not everyone was as well-traveled as himself. Which wasn’t surprising, he didn’t even honestly know what year he was in – but he could tell from the uniforms and people around that it wasn’t exactly during a time where time-travel or dimensional awareness was a thing. He couldn’t help but wonder where he was, or more accurately when he was – but his inquisition stopped the moment the fight began. See, you can’t really throw something without telegraphing it. The shoulder tensing, the arm moving, it all belied only two possibilities. A shield-punch, which with the distance he couldn’t even hope to reach him with his arms. Or, and the most likely, a throw. The angle of his arm also belied a likely target, and he immediately began moving. He swung his arm around, letting the length of chain gather force.

The chain, heavy and durable, slammed into the side of the shield when it was about a foot from his legs, pushing its trajectory off to the right – letting it eat and bite down into the sand. He made no counter-move. Once the shield bit into the ground, he stood there with his eyes still focused on the other. His cold, dead eyes. There was clearly no soul behind them, no life. Whatever the God did to him, it was an atrocious act.

The Colosseum Re-Opens

By the time the ghost of Julius Ceaser took its place at the top of the forum, he was already on his feet and ready to fight. The other gladiator, who had literally no idea what was going on, was struck with awe at the sight of such an iconic leader returning as a ghostly apparition, and taking a place at the side of the current emperor at that! His poor little heart, which could barely handle the strain of fighting, simply refused to go on beating and shut down right on the spot. He clutched his chest, screamed in pain, and fell on the ground. Without the miracles of modern science, there was nothing to be done and he lay dying in excruciating agony. His own spear and sword falling to his side.

Of course, Frank took note of their location should he need them but for now he had his chain and shackles and those – now that they were broken and he had full-range of motion – were more than enough for him to work with. He took a few steps forward, standing just outside of spear-tip range of his opponent, and resumed his combat stance. His eyes locked on the others, and his body tense and ready to move at a moment’s notice and with little in the way of actual thought. You didn’t earn the title “Beatdown King” without always being ready to knock a motherfucker out.

"Le'see what thay's teachin' ye nowadeys!" Red vs Camo, Fergus and Johnathan

He looked back at the gloves a second time, before letting his eyes land on the back of the other guy walking away. He was brash and insulting, and he doubted he could have gained much fame with that attitude. Though he knew worse people during his time in the military, and after that as part of clandestine services. They earned the right to act that way though. Many of them saved his life more than once, the others had his back more than they would their own blood family. They were his brothers. This guy was just some wannabe tough guy from a gym. He’d probably never seen any real combat, never been in a full-on life and death situation. He doubted the man even knew the proper way to clear a structure, much less hold his own in armed combat where your life was the prize.

The man was already proving most of what he suspected, by demanding they fight in a ring and with protective equipment. Johnathan wasn’t about to give him his way on that one. Today many mistakes got rectified. Today, the man would fight a real fight. A fight for his life, a fight that had only one ending. One of them, broken and battered, laying on the ground and their heart no longer pumping any blood through the veins.

“Thirty minutes is twenty-nine more minutes than I need to beat you though, fella.”

He said to the retreating back, his own feet still standing firmly planted on the ground – his arms still resting at his sides. “And I’m not putting on your silly gloves and coming into your padded, air-conditioned ring. You want me to leave, you turn your pussy ass right around, you come back and you swing. Otherwise, you can keep walking away like the little bitch you were raised to be, I’m sure your daddy is real proud of his son: The Bitch. Probably your ring name too, eh?”

His laughter echoed in the near-empty alleyway.

The Colosseum Re-Opens

When you’re the plaything of a God, to be done with as the almighty eye sees fit – you don’t have much choice in your life anymore. That’s how it worked out that, from nowhere, a white-hot line of light split the air about six feet from the ground. It rotated clock-wise, and in that moment the whole thing seemed to swirl and swivel until it opened into a four-foot-wide doorway directly opposite the blue guy with the spear and the sword. On the other side was a man in chains, his wrists bound together with a chain run to his shackled ankles. A heavy, metal collar snapped closed around his neck and locks holding them all in place. His head angled down, short hair dirty and unkempt with ripped up blue jeans being the only protective clothing shrouding him. The collar’s chain led behind him, to a four-armed monstrosity with a face of lightning and a voice of thunder.

“You will fight him.”

It wasn’t a question or a concern. It was a declarative. An argument to the contrary didn’t exist. The man in chains simply stood there, unresponsive and downcast. The other planted his foot at the small of his back, and shoved him through the doorway – releasing the collar chain at the same time.

“You will fight him, and you will win – or you’ll wish he killed you, Frank.”

The force of the push swung him through the impossible door, and he fell sprawled out on his face in the sand. For a moment he simply lay there, almost as if a dog scolded and beaten into pure submission. Then, as the doorway began to close, his life was given back to him. For now, Azaroth would allow him to face another in glorious combat. For now, Azaroth allowed his life to be his own. He could sense that the other was merely a human, without supernatural powers of any kind – so he too allowed Azaroth to take his power from him, to put them on an even playing field. Most days, his might was enough to break the chains that bound him. Today, though, he was as normal as any other human walking the highway.

So, it was a good thing that with a wave of his hand as the doorway snapped fully closed, that the chains loosened themselves and fell to the ground, the shackles remaining almost like weapons or guards on his wrist and ankles. The chain that linked from the neck collar, though, he picked up. Wrapping it twice around his knuckles, and still holding two and a half feet of excess for a whip-like weapon, he lifted his hands. Left hand extended in front of his right, feet shoulder-width apart and his body turned ever so slightly. He was commanded to fight. To kill. And that’s what he was going to do.

New Beginnings Tournament.

“No help at all then, eh? That’s a shame. Liaison really should hire more competent workers, you don’t even know your way around your workplace. What kind of waitress are you?”

Sighing, he turned and walk back out of the room – trying to figure out the way back. He walked for what seemed like an eternity, hours wasted and time spent taking curves and corners. The complex model he built in his head of The Lobby showed him everything he needed to know, eventually he managed to find his way back to the viewing room; where he immediately went to find a seat next to the most pompous looking asshole in the area. He lifted his hand, and when the waitress came over he asked for a bottle of beer, which was delivered quite promptly.

“At least the waitresses here know what they’re do…oh…she might not have been a waitress. She could have been entertainment for the actual combatants!”

That sounded righter than her being a waitress, and it made for a good explanation for how she didn’t know her way around the join. She wasn’t a waitress…she was a prostitute.

“I wonder if they provide one of those at all these events…” he asked aloud, looking around and drinking his beer, quite pleased with himself.

New Beginnings Tournament.

He never came to these things, not usually anyway. In fact, this would be the first time a tournament took place that he wasn’t in…in years. Probably more of them than he could count, not excluding backwater affairs where nobody even really knew civilized combat. Still, word through the grapevine said this tournament had some up-and-coming stars, and he was always looking to recruit. So, he figured with nothing better to do for the time being he should come check it out. At least, that was the logic six days ago when he decided to show up. Now of course there seemed to be way too many posh people in the lobby, and he was far from their normal ilk. They kept eyeing him askance, what with his combat gear and gigantic sword on his back. Standing in the corner, arms covered by the rough material of his black coat and crossed over his lithe chest, he watched them with the same contempt. At any moment, he could wipe them out, but they posed him no threat – and for now his job was to watch, not assault.

Unfortunately.

His gray eyes continued on past them to look at the guy presumably hosting this thing, Liaison. The man looked familiar, like maybe he saw him somewhere before. Though, he wasn’t exactly sure if he knew the man or not – and for now it was of no consequence. He looked over the schedule, attempting to see if he could pick out a name that might be a big winner. His keen hearing picked up words from the guys sitting at the front, discussing the odds they saw for each fighter. Bets were going back and forth, and Lysander perked up at that. Gambling, drinking, and whoremongering was generally his preferred past time. So, with no alcohol being offered to him as yet (and with him deciding to do this right, he needed to stay sober), he walked over to the richest-looking guy he could find. Pulling out a large bag, he dropped it on the table with a solid thuuunk. The top spilled open and a few gold coins slipped out of it and onto the white table.

“Give me twenty-million credits on Xaih to win it all.”

With that, Lysander turned and walked toward the doors that lead to the hallways outside the viewing room, deciding to go off in search of the cafeteria. Of course, a fucking map would have been nice. Nowhere did he see one, and he supposed he should have asked for directions. Now, though, lost in the hallways so hopelessly that he couldn’t even remember which direction his last turn took him in, he simply continued to wander. Maybe someone would come along eventually and find him, or he’d eventually find what he was looking for, or neither. Who knew? He continued like this for a few more minutes, before he found what seemed to be a room with some chairs and the words on the wall reading “Fighters Only”.

“That’s oddly non-specific. Which fighters? I’m a fighter, but does it mean tournament fighters? Well…damn, I don’t know. Maybe one of them can help me find my way back, though!”

Stepping up to the door, it simply refused to move. It seemed automatic, but for some reason it didn’t want to open. Sighing, he touched his finger to the seam – and sent the shadows from beneath and around the door through into it, where they overpowered the locking mechanism and pushed it open – all the while convincing the latch that the door remained closed. With that done, he took a step into the room and looked around. There was only one person here, and he wasn’t sure but she looked oddly familiar too. From the description he received from his spies about this thing, it was definitely the one calling herself Xaih. He knew a Xaih once, and this girl looked a lot like her – but it’d been a long time since he’d last seen her. He presumed she was laying somewhere dead and gone by now.

“Um yes…my name’s Lysander, and I represent The Mystic Dominion…but I seem to have gotten myself lost. Could you maybe tell me how to get back to the main viewing room?

New Beginnings Tournament.

I'm still available to mentor if anyone needs somebody. If not, I'll just fuck off in the viewing area and break as many rules of the building as I can before they try to throw me out on my ass!

No God's Sky

Lysander lay in the grass, his back to the ground and his arms outstretched to either side. To the outside observer, it would inherently appear as if he just came down from a crucifixion cross at Golgatha. However, the truth was far less mundane. An energy-force somehow managed to traverse a thousand years of security, picked out the exact right road out of a multitude of dead-ends and false-leads, then followed that road through defenses that would have brought even an omniscient God to the brink of death just to be in proximity with, all to touch his soul. Which, in and of itself, carried a death sentence in the most gruesome of ways – the breaking down to nothingness on a molecular level. Rapid, forced expansion until there was no longer anything left of the original source. How this…thing managed it was far beyond his comprehension.

In that single moment, however, once that touch finally penetrated defenses nothing could penetrate, and caused him to act in a way that he never would have before – his body went into full-defense mode. Most systems storing secret information, when under intentional assault, have a backup plan. Lysander being an organic creature normally wouldn’t, but for some reason did. As soon as another being managed to break through all of his defenses and lay a finger on his soul, his body shut completely down. Respiratory and nervous systems ceased all activity, and even his soul actually evacuated its tether-line to his body.

Nothing remained of himself, and his body was only an empty husk as his consciousness floated freely. Of course, that was all part of the plan. All a method of preserving himself from sudden death and the end of his time altogether. He was over a million billion years old, and you don’t live that long by inhabiting the same old body the entire time. Flesh grows weak even with considerable power sources and augmentations in place to keep it strong. And though he was a warrior of considerable strength now, he wasn’t always such an indomitable force of might. Bodies were disposable, and he was sure he’d have to dispose of this one after its impenetrable defenses were somehow penetrated.

Regardless, the searching process began. A vast expansion of his consciousness across the planet seeking life. The sight before him, the old body laying on the ground apparently dead dulled – and his vision cast itself across the surface, scanning for a suitable replace. The process, even with an accelerated timeline, would take days, maybe weeks. It was all so frustrating. Suddenly, though, something changed. A subtle shift, like a ripple across the fabric of reality. If he’d been in his own body, it would have never been noticed. But now, as a ghost-like form floating and invisible, barely tethered to the living world, it was as evident as a dolphin diving back into the sea.

‘Lifeforms registered on the planet…zero?’ he asked himself, confused. A moment ago there’d been so many specks of light denoting a living creature in his field of view that it blinded him. Now…now there seemed to be nothing. Quickly rotating his consciousness back to his body, he sought out signs of the others. No one. Nothing.

“I don’t understand.” his disembodied voice was still prevalent, and could still be heard. If anything was around without showing up, they’d have reacted to a sound coming from nowhere in the dead silence that filled the world. Continuing his search for life, he kept focus on the body below him and began to realize that the flesh-form there was, indeed, the only one left on the whole of Killimara.

Understanding that was everything, he wouldn’t need a new body after all! Immediately his energy began pouring back through the flesh, and its systems began to live a second time. With an audible, jerking gasp and lurch of his body upward, head tipped back and mouth wide open, life returned. The scream of pain emitted from his lips, blood-curdling and cold, echoed across the silent forest. After a short span of time, the body lay back limp and he opened his eyes upon a dark, empty world.
“Holy shit. That was a hell of a ride, eh?”

“Yeah, it really was…whoever took us on it is going to have to pay, you know.”

“Oh, believe me…he will,” finishing the conversation with his sword, Lysander turned it tip down and used it to lift his body to a standing position. As soon as he put the weight on both of his feet, he almost fell again. It wasn’t the product of atrophy, though. The sensations passing through the process of bringing oneself back, at least in this manner, produced similar affects as being intoxicated. The whole world spun around him, and he steadied himself against the sword a second time. Already the pains in his stomach were coming, and he could feel the end result bubbling in the pit of his gut. He still didn’t know why the planet was empty, but he intended to find out soon enough…just as soon as the rebirthing sickness passed.

With a sudden, violent jerk of his head, his body tipped forward at the waist and a retching sound became evident. While some small liquid came through, so – too – did a grey substance which, upon exiting his body immediately floated high into the air, condensed upon itself – and then simply vanished.

The only thing Lysander thought was that it didn’t seem normal, and he surely couldn’t remember ever having that happen before during body changes. He reached through into himself, and decided he felt well enough to begin the search. Opting for the quick route, he reached his right hand outward as it throwing something to the side.

Nothing happened.

Immediately realization dawned upon him, and he spewed a string of curses that would make the most hardened sailor blush.

“He fucking escaped…all that work, all that planning…and he fucking escaped. I didn’t think that could happen, you know. Know this, Hellion of Val’gara, when I’m done here, and when I have paid retribution to the thing that did what none other could…I’m coming for you, boy.”

With that, Lysander decided he’d have to do this searching bit the old fashioned way, and immediately set off to scour the planet for any living creature he could lay his hands on.