The Temple of Naught (CVU Location)

The Temple Of Naught

A remnant of a long dead past ripped from it’s grave through unholy might. A place once used to praise those who gave life and maintained order but now, it is tainted. He is the one who has tainted this once hallowed ground. His presence has warped it into nothing more then a dark shadow of it’s former self.

The Temple Of Naught was not always the true name of such a place. It began as the place of worship for an ancient tribe who called themselves the Nomads. They held a set of unique beliefs that served only to garner the ridicule of all those they sought to educate. Through their religion all gods existed and continued to survive as long as there were those who would pray to them. They crafted stories about all the pantheons and how interconnected they truly were. Some were true and, like many myths, a majority were false.

This temple was crafted and named the Temple of Man. It was placed amidst the frozen peaks of the Altai Mountains. They chose this location because it was somewhere that the sun would shine brightest and they could offer worship to all the deities. This is reason that Methodius chose it. A place where those that cast him out were praised was the best fit for his own temple. He defiled it with his dark power; using his destructive abilities to shatter the many statues that stood between the mighty pillars. These depictions of other gods long dead served only to anger him and remind him of their betrayal.

The only decor left inside the ruins are frozen pillars, snow covered and cracked marble, and a large stone obelisk that houses the throne they crafted for their sun god.

The Throne Of The God King

A seat once crafted for the posterior of Amun Ra the one true sun god and king of all gods under the beliefs of the Nomads. It was a seat placed in the one spot to receive the largest amount of consistent sunlight from the reflective mirrors that lined the obelisk.

Now the seat is his and he holds the title of God King. All others who dare to seat themselves atop its stone surface is one who claims themselves a god and such an act is punishable by his hands.

Behind the throne is a massive depiction of the Nomads greatest work of art. A carved mural depicting all the gods gathered around the planet earth. At one point it would have been a beautiful sight to lay your eyes upon but, now it is a broken remnant of their society.

Upon the placement of himself in the seat his dark power has corrupted the place. The heads of gods were carved by large arcs of purple energy into blackened skulls. Tattered white cloths that hung from wooden pillars became stained red. The entire room was changed underneath his darkness, shifted into something more fitting his presence.

The Pantheon of Amun Gyakusatsu

Those that are cast out, those that have no place, and those that have nothing are the ones that turn to him. They gather in secret to call his name and ask for power. They call his name and ask for vengeance. They call his name and ask for war. It is these voices that he hears; these prayers constantly delving deep into his thoughts.

To meet such a god one must truly take a journey of survival. A trek through the siberian wilderness and into the mountains yields fatal for most all who attempt it. However, the reward of being able to lay their eyes on their god and pray at his feet.

To follow the words of Amun Gyakusatsu one must adopt a radical thought process. All leaders other than the vessel Methodius are puppets waiting to be controlled. All who worship other gods are practitioners of ignorance and are simply being deceived for Amun Gyakusatsu is the one true god.

The Village of Methodius

The village of Methodius is the name given to the recent development of a few small wooden homes located a small walk away from the Temple of Naught. These serve as the hand made homes of Methodius's followers who wish to live closer to their god. The homes are usually heated with a fireplace and illuminated by candles. Each one houses only a few worshipers and as those who wish to live closer to Methodius arrive the village grows.

OOC

• Standard RPG and CVU rules apply.
• Only minor destruction allowed.
• This location is open as long as you provide a decent enough reason to be here.
• Anyone can choose to follow the pantheon but adding to it without my permission is not allowed.
• Have fun

@methodius:

Frozen Peaks of Altai Mountains

A blind man trekked through the cold, unaffected by it. He wore a black cloak, and he knew where he wanted to go. A ravaged temple, The Temple of Man was all that greeted him. This was desolate landscape. The temple, The Throne of God King, the blind man walked inside.

"So someone has finally sat down on the accursed throne again." He exclaimed at the throne's occupant.

(feel free to bomb me with NPCs lol if there are any)

@stuart_sion:

There will be those who claim to know him, who claim to know his powers. These are liars who desire nothing more then the title of false prophet.

-The Book of Methodius

This world is one filled with liars and deceivers who claim the title of god. These men and women who claim to know but, are blinded by ignorance. On this day he held his seat and took in the northern winds ferocity; a ferocity that sought to match his own. Yet the winds died down as the massive obelisk was entered by one of these liars. His words were nothing more then a grasp at information they held no right to. This man claimed to know of the throne but, the throne was his.

His head lifted to gaze at the shadowed being, his white eyes scanning the one who claimed access to knowledge he wouldn't have.

"And what do you know of the throne with a mind clouded by ignorance?"

@methodius: The blind man stopped on the far side of the throne. "I know more than enough child. Eons ago, it was the Amun Ra that decorated that which you've claimed as your own." The blind man remembered his old friend.

@methodius:

Sometimes I hate the way things have gone. The loss of Ancient Egypt, the destruction of the gods...all of them. I was created by the hand of a god to protect the people of Egypt, a mandate I have since expanded to cover the whole of the planet. I protect Amun-Ra but he is nothing more than a spirit now, an orb of energy that is slowly reforming a physical body. He has asked me to come here because there was a disturbance strong enough for him to sense. This temple was long abandoned and most of the gods it once served have long ago died out.

I observe the twisted darkness that the temple has become, I remember as I land and walk through its halls what it was like during its height. I once walked these halls as one of the honor guard of Amun-Ra. Why would something not just let this place rot?

Eventually I see the throne, I remember my time at Amun-Ra's side, I remember my first life. I can feel twisted divine energy flowing out from the throne...a real god is present. Shaking my head I can hear two voices speaking and ascend the stairs slowly for the throne itself. As I do so, I think fondly back on the old days. I was the most prized of the Hawk Lords, the most powerful and the highest ranking. When a Pharaoh needed protection, I was often the one they requested. I served as the first wife of more than one Pharaoh to increase their legitimacy in the eyes of the people they ruled.

Now I stand before some unknown deity on a twistedmemory. He's speaking to someone, so I simply wait.

@stuart_sion: @lunahawk:

"SILENCE"

His voice boomed through the stone obelisks interior. Items that lacked proper securing devices were launched through the air and mixed with the wave of once docile snow that blasted its way out of the open doorway. His hands firmly gripped the marble arm rests of the ancient throne. He began to move, to rise into an upright position and as his posterior left the seat the entire atmosphere of the room changed.

The banners along the walls began to shift spastically, the flames that graced the candles were snuffed out. From his body a dark aura began to emanate from him. Large waves of violaceous energy erupting from beneath each footfall. Those that could feel the mana and other non-em energies(octarine) that resided in the temple would begin to notice a shift. This was his doing, his bodies natural reaction to such energies. They would be corrupted, torn apart, and then reassembled as his own form of power, dark octarine.

"Do not speak that name in my presence. Amun Ra is long since gone yet I remain. Amun Ra strangled on his own pride and died knowing his creations didn't need him anymore. He was pathetic and afraid, afraid of me. I am born from the dying and the prosperous. I am a god and you are nothing more then a pretender. Now begone from my sight lest I break you."

He moved past the blind fool no longer paying him any mind and moving towards a newly arrived guest. Something he thought would have died off with the old gods. His watchmen, his defenders, his soldiers...the hawks. Their winged bodies armored in the finest Egyptian leathers. Their existence meant that Ra was still alive and that meant that there was a larger issue then a false prophet.

"So Amun Ra's winged hounds still patrol the world that forgot him hmmm?"

@methodius:

The HUD in my helmet has already scanned his features and assessed the energies flowing around this deity. It's information is stored for now and will access the Super City systems once I return. I stood unmoving as he unsettled the temple and watched as he moved in my direction. I was not surprised by his curiosity, most who really understood such things would have believed the Hawk Lords long dead, most were, most died defending Amun-Ra from Zeus. They were coming back to the world now, slowly and in increments, but it was happening.

"This world forgets less than you think." I tell him calmly. "Amun-Ra sensed a disturbance here and sent me to investigate its cause. My name is Luna Hawk, you may remember me as Solar Hawk." As Solar Hawk, I would be the most recognizable of the Hawk Lords for the deities, I always flanked Amun-Ra, I guarded his throne and walked with him among the other gods. I was his right hand. My only absences from Thanagar or his side were when I was assigned to a Pharaoh who needed more legitimacy among the people. I changed my name many life times ago, though there is an alternate version of me still going by the name Solar Hawk.

We don't follow Amun-Ra blindly anymore, he's too disconnected with the modern world, he doesn't understand what it needs and how to govern in it. He will eventually and when he does, we will listen once more be at his side...for now we help him when it doesn't endanger world stability and we attend to him while he recovers from his wounds.

"As you have no doubt discerned by now my Lord, Amun-Ra didn't die...a few others exist as well, though most are now reduced to what you see here."I told him, gesturing to the rubble from the statues he had destroyed. Most of the old gods were no more, those that did exist existed in alternate forms or through alternative means.

@methodius: "Perhaps...you know me as Horus- whose eyes were stolen by Set." The old fool did not give up at being dismissed. Although myths were often wrong about what'd really happened. Horus was not blinded. His eyes were removed at one point, but he did get them back, nor was he intimidated by show of false power. "My only business in coming here was to congratulate you on your seat- King of Gods."

@lunahawk:

"Indeed it does"

To know that the one god who brought about his exile was still alive gave him a sense of joy rather then despair. A grudge held from the begining of his existence could one day be erradicated along with the one being that would stand in his way. His fingers interlocked behind his back as he moved back towards the mighty throne. His powerful footfalls echoe'd through the obelisks interior as he thought back to the days of old. The name Solar Hawk rang only a few bells but, nothing was truly coming to the forefront of his minds eye.

"The fact that the gods are still alive is known to me, very few ever actually die. Tell me though, what exactly did Amun Ra say to you?"

A question based off of his desire to feed his own ego. To know that Ra had sensed him and feared him enough to send his force of elite winged warriors was tantalizing. He wanted to know the exact words said by the previous god king so he could savor them or so he could use them as fuel for his internal fire. The fire that burned with one desire...to see that bird head on a spike.

@methodius:

"He told me something had disturbed the temple, he wished to know what." Luna Hawk said with a shrug, if Amun-Ra knew what the disturbance was he hadn't shared the information with her. "He and I do not always see eye to eye these days, it's possible he knew more and didn't think he needed to tell me, or it's equally possible he didn't know it was you."

Luna Hawk considered leaving it at that...but determined not to. "Something has changed." She said after several moments of silence. "There is evidence, growing evidence, that the barriers between realities have other weakened or already cracked. The fact you're here seems to support that to me as well. You have better senses for these things than I...if you see anything, if you feel anything, I ask that you tell me...some of us are investigating it and believe it will get worse."

@lunahawk:

So the old god didn't want to give him the satisfaction of begin recognized, no matter, it would all be over for him soon anyway. Potentially the bird was holding back information for the sake of not feeding into his egotistical persona but, the very fact that Ra had sent them did just enough. He finally arrived atop his throne positioning his body in an upright and relaxed position.

As she spoke of a weakening in the walls of the universe he could only smile; it was this that he desired most. The breaking of the walls would allow more of him to seep into this world and the more he of him that existed the stronger he became.

"No."

His words were stern yet filled with glee. The glee of knowing that the weaker those walls became the stronger he would become.

"Let the walls crumble into oblivion and watch as I can once again walk this earth in my own skin."

"Yth sing jacida tiichi vur drekik ihk jacida onelkatorra. Yth pledge hesi loyalty ekess jaci vur tor batobot jaci ingowil udoka mrith jacida presence."

The words of the ancient hymns echoed through the temple's barren hall, the words falling upon an empty throne where once a powerful being had come to rest. They were his worshipers who had survived the climb and now wished only to see their lord. For three weeks he had not arrived, three weeks gone and his world was already starting to forget about him. Three weeks ago blasphemers had fallen from the sky and struck his lands. Three weeks ago he had gone off to do battle with them. Three weeks ago was the last time they had seen their god.

Then in a flash of purple, a bolt of power cascaded from the skies. It's point struck the Throne of the God King with great might and power. It sent arcs of purple energy towards every man who stood inside the temple. Their bodies shook and burnt as dark flames seared them from the inside out. Their robes were turned into ash and their bodies nothing more then a pile of blackened bones still burning purple. The charred husks all surrounded one lone man who stood amidst the ruin and death. He cowered in a puddle of his own creation.

Atop the throne stood a figure, sickly and weak, his body nothing more then bones. Shrouded in red and black garb that hung loosely from his form. His sunken eyes gazed out upon the room, they were white like the snow. As he looked out the flames began to move along the ground like snakes; each purple flame slithering up the wooden stairs and into the one who stood before the throne. The fires ate away at his flesh and left new flesh in it's wake. Like a swarm of hungry maggots they devoured the dead skin and replaced it with a new one until it became clear who stood before that throne. The one true god...Methodius.

His eyes surveyed the sacrificed bodies before falling upon the one who still stood. His voice boomed through the hall forcing the torn banners to violently billow.

"RISE!"

"Remove your hood. You are the sole survivor."

The hooded worshiper bowed his head and removed the black fabric that obscured his face.

"My god, I have prayed...we have prayed everyday to gaze upon you. Yet when you answered..this happened. Why my lord, did we disrespect you."

"Obviously they didn't pray hard enough, their lives were given to restore my form. Yet my power chose not to take yours. By the decree of the old laws you have been chosen by the fates to become my champion. Blasted harpies feel I need someone to fight in my stead because one false god managed to throw me from this world. Well then come dog...let me tell you where to find the sword of Methodius."

@methodius:

Siberia - The Altai Mountains

The cold wilderness of Siberia was nothing to a man wearing three-fold armor. Adorned in unseen shielding, green-cloaked armor, and an iron will, Klaus was immune to the freezing winds and blasts of snow. Moments before, he'd opened a gravity well, a pinch in time-space carrying him across a vast distance with but a step. It was not nearly so fantastical as it seemed; in a manner of speaking, he'd simply, for but an instant, and only at a tiny location, made this patch of Siberia adjacent to Castle Licher in Switzerland. A swirling oval of compressed gravitational energy was all it had taken to enable him to stride the distance of a continent in a second. And stride he did, confidently ascending the spire with inquisitive eyes. The cloak held tight to his figure, disguising the armor in its entirety save for his masked face. The design was stoic, devoid of rage or mirth. It represented control of one's self, and one's emotions.

He admired the stone architecture of the ruins, alleged to have once been a temple of worship for beings called the Nomads. His attention had been drawn to the site by an energy signature similar to one he'd noticed in Nebraska. The very foundation of the rock radiated something foul, a perverse yet fascinating variant of traditional non-electromagnetic energy. Wizards had been inclined to refer to it as mana, or spirit, but Klaus recognized it for what it was. Science, to be wielded, and bent to the user's will. Such an understanding had permitted him to seize the title of Sorcerer Supreme, in spite of having no formal training in the so-called mystic arts. From time to time, he smiled softly to himself in satisfaction, remembering the arduous tournament he'd been forced into in order to claim the position. He'd saved a great many lives from the previous holder...of that, he was certain.

Shattered rock crunched underfoot as he made his way deeper into the great atrium, uncontested thus far in his arrival. Tattered red curtains blew in the wind, an empty throne far up ahead. There was still some presence here, a psychic signature he recognized all too well as belonging to something...sentient. He thought of himself, but two years ago, and how he would have had no grasp of what he might face; how he'd brandish a gun, rather than threaten to distort the laws of physics. He smirked, cape falling to the side from his right arm as he stoked a small ball of fire in his palm. Ah, fire; so warm, evocative of human spirit. Destructive, yes, but comforting, if used properly. He snuffed the flame, then left the palm open, mists rising from behind his person as he stared at the throne. Watching, waiting, knowing there would be some response.

@lichter:

There are those that consider themselves strong, strong enough to question a god. Those men are the ones who fall first. It is those who take a gods word as law without question that are truly strong because they live the longest. -The Book of Methodius

His empty throne would only remain empty for so long before a purple miasma began to cloud around the stone seat. It took the shape of a man, flowing and wild, before condensing into bone and skin. The vapor formed his body and his body formed his clothes. His metal boots catching the light of the sun that streamed through the many holes in the decrepit looking temple. Red clothes trimmed with black clung tightly to his upper body yet hung loosely on his legs. The colors of wealth mixing with the colors of rage to create more then just garments, they were a symbol. A way to convey his power without words or showboating.

The eyes of god looked upon the one who had made the journey to his temple, a trial that made him worthy to cast his gaze upon Methodius. Yet the ignorant child showed him no respect by simply standing before the throne. It was obvious that customs had been lost on the minds of modern day mortals. They were to busy thinking they held some semblance of power to remember that you are to kneel before God when he chooses to grace you with his presence. He let the silence settle upon the room, the only sound was the howling of the wind as it blew through the cracks in the temple's walls.

His hands took hold of the ancient marble arms of his seat, his arms extended forcing him to his feet, and the wind was silenced almost immediately. There was no longer any sound in the temple, simply a man and a god staring at one another. His black boots crunched in the thin layer of snow that covered the creaky wooden steps as he descended down. "Have you mortals forgotten the actions one takes when gazing upon a god." His voice boomed through the temple like claps of thunder that shook the smallest flakes of snow. He planted himself before the Sorcerer Supreme and interlaced his arms. Wisps of purple fire formed a long black cape that draped across his shoulders. "Kneel."

@methodius:

Lichter narrowed his eyes as the being materialized slowly in the throne at the end of the hall, his slight use of magic clearly enough to perturb whatever presence called this place its home. He inclined his head to the side, inspecting the seated god closely from afar. Clearly the very same being who had come into conflict with Thee Champion in Nebraska. He could not yet judge its power, for he knew that the title of God was one often thrown around with much abandon. All that was eminently clear was that the being radiated a dark energy unknown to conventional science, the steps whining in complaint as he walked forward. His voice was loud, though nothing more intimidating than what Lichter had faced before. The man demanded he kneel.

Speaking to elder beings was much like speaking to heads of state. Lichter had started with guns and knives, parleying with the Presidents of the United States and Venezuela. Courting danger with them was much the same as discussing metaphysical matters with the likes of Methodius. He would not put the other in a position of power over him, though he would at the very least signal some measure of respect to him. He bowed his head slightly, a simple nod. Direct defiance of his host's order, yes, but not quite enough to signal utter contempt.

"Who are you?" Lichter asked, fingers lacing imperceptibly at his waist behind his cloak. As they did, a small circle carved itself into the ground around his feet, glowing for but a second as Klaus' hidden eyes met Methodius' purple ones. His basic shield was now strengthened by several orders of magnitude, a precaution against any sudden attack. What had once been invisible was for but a moment a slight shimmer, then translucent. Lichter waited, cape concealing his actions, mask hiding his features.

@lichter:

Arrogance was something he had always been faced with by everyone who stood in his presence. Arrogance displayed by his followers, arrogance displayed by his visitors, and arrogance displayed by his enemies. Here his visitor displayed an overwhelming sense of arrogance by not bowing before God and instead simply lowering his head a few degree's. The thought that that would appease the ego of Methodius was simply outrageous. Was it so hard to drop to ones knee for a moment to signal your respect at the magnitude of being before you. Yet the man before him was so arrogant as to defy the will of a God and instead drop his head. Maybe the weak governments of Earth accepted such a stance but, Methodius was no weak government. He was the God King of this world, he was the one who would enforce his word upon it's surface and he was the one who would strike out against those that sought to end his world.

To make matters worse this being who brought himself before the God King addressed the being before him as if he were a member of the common rabble. Methodius was not some peasant walking the street, he was a being of great power. The one before him made another mistake, allowing the God King to glimpse upon his power. Even for only a moment he knew that glow; an ordinary man would not have been able to see it and even though Methodius was not gifted with a mages ability to see latent mana he knew the sight of active mana. This man was a sorcerer, sorcerers always thought themselves on top of the world because they could control forces others could not. They thought nothing could touch them because they could warp reality however, their distortion was nothing compared to the power of a god.

He approached the man, growing closer to him, allowing his body to be as close to him as it could get. He didn't move, simply let his presence do the work. His natural ability to corrupt nearby octarine was one that posed a great threat. Who knew if the mage would be able to detect what was happening to his obvious barrier. Maybe he had the mage sight and would be able to see the purple tendrils snaking out from the God Kings body and attacking the very essence of whatever spell he had just cast. Maybe he would be able to feel his power turning into Methodius's own dark might. It mattered not to him because at this moment the realization that this man had walked into the worst situation to display arrogance would become very clear.

"I am Methodius and I told you to Kneel."

12%

@methodius:

They stood but a meter apart, the prominence of "Methodius" lost on Lichter, and vice versa. Both wielded power beyond imagination, though it seemed the God King's were outside the realm of what Klaus had been used to. In the past, he'd been able to readily classify any opponent who used either magic or psychokinesis as manipulating octarine, as he'd named the energy spectrum of all frequencies outside the electromagnetic one. But whatever power this supposedly-divine man was drawing on seemed outside the boundary of traditional mysticism. He remembered noting, back at the site of the crashed Divine Aether, that his potential to draw on a foe's power reserves would make him a direct counter of sorts to any who relied on such energy...as Klaus did himself. He watched with narrowed eyes, through lenses which enabled him to see the energy interact with this godling's biology, his shields slowly dissipate. Was he drawing power from them?

It's a trap, he thought, wordless as Methodius demanded once more that he bend the knee. Clearly, dissolving his shields would leave him more vulnerable, yet failure to do so would only empower his enemy further. He would certainly not kneel, for to do so would create an unacceptable power differential. The insistence that he put himself in such a position, a priori to all further interactions, suggested a need for dominance. He noted that, as well as the being's name. As for what to do, he'd clearly need to lower his first line of defense.

And so he did. The shields fell, leaving the nonetheless powerful armor as well as synth-fluid under-suit between Methodius and Klaus. He tilted his head to the side, prepared to re-raise them momentarily if need be; had he the choice, however, he'd need to leave them lowered, so as to prevent the man from drawing on more of his power. He wondered if provoking a god would be a wise course of action. He suspected he'd underestimate the armor's durability, fully on par with that of his shield. Hopefully, that would be the case. He'd need to see how sensitive this being was on the inside before determining where best to strike him on the outside.

So he replied:

"I am Lichter, and you crave validation."

@lichter:

A smirk glided across his face as his piercing white eyes gazed upon the arrogant architect of order. He had been extended an olive branch of mercy and instead of accepting it by dropping to one knee he tried to make assumptions about the one who stood before him. To see such arrogance from a mortal was something he hadn't seen in a long time and brought back memories of the arrogance presented by the old gods. The old gods that tried to lock him away only to be betrayed by their false immortality.

"You are a type of man I haven't seen in a long time. The type who continues to think himself on top despite his inferiority. You are a weak man who hides behind false strength, manufactured strength, stolen strength. You are the one who considers his mind strong but, your body is frail."

He lifted his hand allowing a sphere of volatile violet to shape and shift. Large pointed masses stretched against it's thin surface like ferromagnetic fluid waiting to burst outwards.

"With this sphere I could end your pathetic existence, I could take your life in the blink of an eye. Yet..."

He closed his palm and the orb vanished. It's purple surface no more.

"...you still stand here before me...breathing. You entertain me mage, your skeptical mind forces you to rationalize every little thing doesn't it? That's how mages work after all...hunting the secrets behind forces they can't comprehend. All I ask of you is that you kneel out of respect for tradition yet, your so blinded by your own confidence that you can't even do that. Tell me little man, am I right about you? Am I correct in my assumption or am I wrong...like you are."

He didn't wait for an answer, instead he allowed his control over the dark octarine to take effect. There was no movement from the God King but, behind the mage a small sliver matching the same level of power he had used to puncture the flesh of Thee Champion would look to slice his Achilles tendon. Was he successful then the mage would be forced by his own mortality to bend the knee.

@methodius:

The God King's posturing left little impression on Klaus. What perfunctory analysis he'd offered regarding Lichter's chosen profession of secret-seeker amounted to nothing with regards to intimidation; Klaus had gone against the very best in psychological manipulation and still managed to hold his own. Alexander Donn had imparted a number of lessons on the Delver, both intentionally and unconsciously. What did give him pause, however, was his increased vulnerability, the shields now useless in the face of impending violence. He couldn't risk feeding Methodius additional power, but now that he stood mere feet from him, he'd begun to consider an alternative approach.

Hmph, he thought, fingers unlacing and twitching rhythmically. Preparation for a spell. He had the "courtesy" to let Methodius finish his self-indulgent speech, using the time to come up with a countermeasure against whatever Methodius could've been planning. A physical strike seemed imminent, though he could not be sure of physical dominance. What keyed Klaus in to the lethal assault, however, was a sudden spike in extra-normal energies behind him. While the Octarine Oscillator was now known for providing physical shielding through sorcery, its original function had been in detecting and circumventing mystic attacks on his person. While he couldn't risk relying on it to block whatever Methodius had been planning, given the unnatural nature of his energies, he could use the information it signified to him in order to react appropriately.

The most apt course of action, he decided, would be to turn Methodius' own attack against him. He snapped the forefingers on both his hands, rapidly opening two small static wormholes in their immediate vicinity. One twisted into being directly behind Klaus, only a moment before the spike could penetrate his armor; the other, directly behind Methodius' back. Ideally, the attack the God King had sought to direct at Lichter would instead obliterate him. Lichter had no knowledge of the nature of the attack, gambling instead that it would be enough to distract the man. He also didn't know how close he'd come to a near-fatal wounding.

But such a rapid countermeasure would not be the end of his assault. Changing his posture, Lichter shot his fist forward, curled metal fingers accelerating with supernatural speed. The explosiveness of the strike was amplified by both his armor and mystic aptitude, his strike but a silver blur as he carried it out. However, this was no direct attack, which might be intercepted and used for grappling. Instead, he snapped his left fingers, opening a tiny portal only a foot in diameter in the path of his attack. His fist would pass through the portal for but a moment, emerging from another portal simultaneously generated on the left side of Methodius' head. As he'd draw it back, the portals would vanish. Such manipulation of space and distance was unknown to all conventional combatants, but for Lichter, it was routine.

@lichter:

Oh the arrogance of those who have tasted the addictive beast that is magics power. It left one flooded with the thought that because they can shape reality in minor ways they had the ability to slay that which was immortal. Immortality however did not equal impenetrability and as that small sliver of dark octarine sought to show the mage the truth about his mortality he conjured up one of the most basic spells a magus can produce in and sent the sliver into the back of the God King. His body wouldn't even move as it punctured the false flesh and was then dismantled with a thought. Was he an ordinary mage he may have applauded that assault and even moved when the edge slid through his skin.

There were other ways of displaying his dominance. He could have dismantled the sliver moments after the mage had snapped his fingers, he could have moved himself, but he chose to withstand the blow. It was a gesture of the smallest respect towards the mages reaction speed and detection of arcane forces. Such a feat would not be achieved again though as Methodius thought and his darkness created. Another simple form of arcane manipulation was to create a barrier however, the nature of Methodius's powers were not as dormant as regular energies. It was volatile and dangerous, his barriers would lash out at what struck it. That which made contact with his barriers would cause violent bursts of volatile violet power. Explosions of fuchsia flames that could only be described as torrid.

The mages attack was signified with the snapping of his fingers and the movement of his fist. Once again Methodius stood unmoving, allowing the mage to strike his barrier. He need not move, simply allow his defense to take control. As the fist struck his shield the fires erupted outwards giving the first sign that his barrier was there. Dismantling the defense as the fist that had sought to strike

His counter would show this mage the true fragility of his humanity and the real weakness of natural flesh and bone. His legs exploded forwards towards the mages foreword most leg. His momentum would continue bringing his head into the mages center of gravity and swinging outside the mages body and creating what would look like a 135 degree angle. His arms would wrap around the leg and pull it upwards between his own. His outside leg would then sweep Lichter's ankle and the side of his head would push against Lichter's center of gravity.

A single leg take down that would look to make use of the fact that, with one leg suspended and being controlled by Methodius, his weight would be forced to be on his back leg. The sweep would put the mage into the air and allow Methodius to slam him into the stone floor.

When God did wrestling in High School.

@rossum: Don't you mean the God of Highschool. Eh.

@lowlaville: I don't get it.

@lowlaville: Ew.

Tristan shivered once again, as snow gently fell around him. He’d been doing that since he entered the mountains, but this was his first real shudder in a few hours. He had arrived outside his destination, and it seemed unreal. Strange thought, for a psychopath/lunatic with a tendency to hallucinations, but all the same the feeling was accurate. What was the smiling devil doing on the steps of an ancient Temple? Simple really. He was investigating. There had been very few witnesses in Nebraska when the Aether was dropped, but Interpol gleaned whatever they could before setting Dr. Puzzlehoff into the unknown. His first target was a mutant of godlike proportions. He’d spent weeks searching, checking old internet sightings, mythology, and even locating one or two worshipers of the god. Finally he’d found out about the Temple of Man, so closely related to the legends surrounding the so-called Northern Bear. He’d painstakingly located it and made the daunting trek through the Siberian wilderness. The fresh air did his mind good, and the outer cold and pain did little to his toughened senses. His white sweatshirt, stained from the journey, did little to keep the biting wind off his skin and he had a feeling he’d need medical attention after his mission. Nothing new. He approached the entrance of the Temple but did not enter. He heard voices. Arguing voices. His bright eyes caught the red form of the god he was seeking, as well as another person, or perhaps a machine based on its metal plating. The Bear was a sight to see in himself, and Tristan happened to look right as he lashed out at the green-cloaked man. He still didn’t enter the building, simply observing personalities through actions would do for now as the last piece of research before approaching the patient.

@methodius:

The black carbon nano-plastic covering his knuckles hardened dramatically as they collided with Methodius' shield, causing him to retract his fist instantly back through the portal into a defensive position. The speed of his strike would've broken his hand were it not for the amazingly powerful technology, which grew rigid in response to physical trauma; still, it hadn't been enough to put a dent in the Northern Bear's own unconscious shield. Lichter shifted on his feet, but was unable to move quite as quickly without the use of his octarine energy. He'd once been a blur, but now, he was just a man-shaped tank in a cape. He had to develop a new strategy, though Methodius wouldn't give him the chance.

Maybe if I-

The thought was interrupted as the God King charged forward, his grapple succeeding with little resistance from the Delver of Secrets. Up into the air he was lifted, before crashing down into the stone beneath, a bone-crunching slam that stole the air from Klaus' lungs. Dust and snow were kicked up by the impact, his body about a foot deep in the earth. The armor had saved his life, and was still operating exceedingly well; Lichter could detect no ruptures, or even significant damage. Regardless, he was virtually helpless, unable to overpower Methodius through brute force alone, and trapped beneath his powerful form. Cracks spiraled through the ground. He coughed, but the noise was muted by his armor.

I can't fight him like this. But I know someone who can, he thought rapidly, his vision blurred slightly by the impact. He could not tell whether Methodius were standing over him, or if he still had a grip on him, but in a moment, it wouldn't matter. Klaus flexed his fingers, twisting his wrist around in a circle and prying open a wormhole above them both. This time, however, the gravitaitonal flux would be present, serving to draw them both inexorably through the portal to a new, more neutral location.

Miami.

To be continued in Hotline Reynard.

Immediately after Methodius left Miami

Methodius's champion, chosen by the fates to execute the Gods will and defend him from those that sought to defame his divinity stood before the God Kings throne. His hands placed together and his blade beside him in the ground as he prayed for guidance. News of Miami had not yet fallen upon the holy knights ears and not seeing his God sitting atop his rightful throne had given him only the slightest sense of worry. His words were the same over and over, he begged for an answer.

Then finally he got one, a voice that penetrated his consciousness with the promise of enlightenment.

"Barton, it is time for you to do your job. I will return and until then you are my priest. Deliver my words and protect my followers."

Then his mind was silent once again. Silent but, filled with determination to follow his orders to the best of his ability. He left the temple looking out at a small collection of wooden shacks that circled what could only be called a village center. Four wooden buildings with roof's covered in snow and chimneys pumping out smoke. These were his people and they would be protected.

@methodius:

One Year Ago

Disembarking from a boat, Kristofferson had walked through knee-deep snow to the to the peak of the mountain, never once doubting his innate ability to survive. Though he never truly considered his training "complete," for he believed in constant improvement, he had to concede that the bulk of his body's refinement had been fulfilled. Exercise would now only maintain his physique, rather than improve it.

Likewise, there were few challenges left to face him physically. Moral quandaries were now mostly what remained, he thought, and so, a little light travel couldn't hurt.

Deducing the location of the mysterious "Temple of Naught" had taken him quite some time. The nomads who had trained him had made mention of it, declaring it a place of danger. Kristofferson embarked almost immediately, drawn to the mystique as well as the rich, unplumbed lore.

Finally arriving at the first stones marking the temple's exterior, he ran a gloved hand along the outside, blinking snow out of his icy blue eyes.

@supra-man:

One Year Ago

One must crawl before they can walk, one must walk before they can run, and one must run before they can jump. This is the natural order of the world and even he who utters its words must abide by them. -The Book of Methodius

The cold still stung his human flesh as a constant reminder that he was restrained by this form. Much like an infant it was all new to him and it filled him with an almost childlike wonder. His feet felt the cold of the snow high atop the peaks of the mountains looking down at the temple he resided in. His newly gained knowledge of mortals told him it was called 'home' yet that word didn't sit well in his ears. He had not heard many words yet and his ability to conceive words was even worse. He could think them perfectly but, articulation and projection of words was a struggle.

The cold was a feeling he was growing familiar with, the longer he stood there the less the pain bothered him. It was paradoxical in that the more he felt the less he felt. As the days went on the pain of feeling one's body become immobile and then being forced to move it became nothing more then a trivial reminder that he needed to occupy a vessel in order to walk among his followers. However walking among them made him feel something new, they made him feel emotions. He had unknowingly felt two of them during his first days of existence, those being anger and sadness, yet there was a whole spectrum of these feelings. So many that he had yet to even graze the surface of their sea.

Now another new feeling came to him in the form of intrigue. He was intrigued by the strange mortal who had braved the journey up the mountain to see what lay at the top. The temple was a place for those who sought to worship the new God King and in that way Methodius considered this man a worshiper. He dislodged his feet from the snow and trudged down towards his place of residence in order to greet what he assumed was a new follower.

@methodius:

My God, a man! Kris thought, blocking the sun with his gloved hand. The wind began to die down, enough so that the nude man's footsteps could be heard crunching in the snow beneath their feet. Then, it was back.

The man was muscular, and hardly affected by the cold that surrounded them - had he, too, achieved mastery of his senses? The man was calm, unperturbed by the chill in the air, and he bore a blank look. Curiosity played across Kris' features, his back straightening as he unzipped his jacket.

"Greetings! Do you need - have you need of clothing?!?" he shouted, the wind drowning some of his words. He made sure to enunciate clearly, but would this man even speak English? It was a go-to language in most parts of the world. It'd make more sense to try Russian, he supposed. He would proceed to repeat the question, offering the blank-faced statue of a man his jacket.

@supra-man:

He cocked his head much like a dog trying to understand the words of humans. He spoke in two different languages which the God King understood however, speaking words in response was more difficult. His answer was blunt and would come with no emotion behind it. Much like his expression it would be blank and almost lifeless.

"No"

The man made him an offering and it was out of politeness that he took it. Unknowingly to the God King the offering went with the question and his taking of the item would only make things more confusing for the small mind of a mortal being. The assumption that everyone knew him to be their God was one he made despite it's incorrectness and it made communication between the two harder then just a language barrier. Methodius expected a bow and he did not receive one which gave him a choice he had not yet been forced to consider. Every other time he had encountered people they dropped to their knees before him and asked for his mercy. He considered this their attempt at praise but, when a naked man who stands over 7'ft tall with arms the size of tree trunks looks at you in the middle of an icy landscape most people tend to feel some level of fear. This asking for mercy was them asking for their lives to be spared by what they assumed to be a monster.

However, this man did not bow and by doing so he had presented a level of disrespect to a divine being. The options were to A. smite him like the gods of old would do or to B. offer him the chance to make up for his mistake. Not wishing to be like the old gods he opted to give him a choice.

"Puny man Bow. God King demand."

@methodius:

Ah. I see.

The man's simple vocabulary indicated some degree of foreign-ness to both Russia and the English-speaking world. The demand itself was also an unexpected, yet appropriate one. Kris was treading on sacred ground, after all, and whoever this man was, his traditions demanded respect. If he were to learn from him, he ought to respect his request.

"Of course," he said, turning towards the temple to kneel upon one knee for a second. Paying respect to a stranger was the first step to making them something more - it was simple as that. How manners eluded so many, he would never know.

Kris returned to his feet, smiling at the man.

"Do you have a name, my friend?"

@supra-man:

The mortal man still confused Methodius, he bowed but did not face him when he did so. Perhaps traditions had changed since he had last walked this Earth. To these mortals it was many years however, to the God King it was merely a blink of an immortal eye. He would have to remember that in the future when dealing with those who had forgotten the proper customs. Perhaps giving them more then a single chance would work like it had today.

However, the confusion between the two would only grow thicker as the mortal asked the God Kings name. Surely by kneeling he knew that he was acknowledging he was in the presence of divinity so then why did he feel the need to ask a name.

"You confuse. Me Methodius. Me God King."

Much like an ape does he used his four fingers in an almost claw like fashion to point towards himself. Hoping that the gesture of simple creatures would help the simple man understand.

@methodius:

"You confuse me, Methodius. Me...God King."

Kristofferson raised an eyebrow, offering a small smile.

"I am not Methodius, my friend, though I've read about him. Are you...alone, up here? Do you live within the ruins? What do you eat?" he asked, bristling slightly in the cold. He began to adapt, taking refuge in inner tranquility. He did not necessarily ignore the cold; rather, he accepted it. Overcame it.

@supra-man:

Of course he wasn't Methodius, did he not understand. The dialect boundary between the two only grew thicker as the man failed to grasp the words he was speaking. Methodius however, began taking notice of the difference between the way the two spoke. While his sentences were choppy and harsh, the man before him spoke in a way that was fluid and smooth. Taking notes on the words he used and the way he used them his mind began learning something new.

"You am not Methodius. I is Methodius."

New words and a new way to assemble them, the pieces began falling into place inside of his mind.

@methodius:

Kris looked calmly to the man, now wearing the jacket, and raised another eyebrow. It was not done so in a skeptical way, but rather, more one which signified a renewed level of interest. This man claimed to be the deity spoken of in hushed whispers by several of the nomads with whom he'd trained, an intriguing statement that drew Kris further into the web of interest that this temple generated. How long had the man been here? How had he survived? Were there more?

"Methodius," he began, addressing the man as he wished to be called, "How long have you lived upon this mountain?" he asked, looking around the peak. Snow fell heavily on their shoulders.

@supra-man:

More words and more sentence structure began to take shape in the mind of the God King. For him learning was more like recalling memories as the mind of a God differed from the mind of a mortal in so many ways. As he heard the man talk he could feel his words exiting his mouth closer and closer to how he thought them. From the expression the man presented he was clearly confused by the situation, perhaps it was possible he didn't believe. Even if he addressed him as Methodius he could have been doing it out of fear that the almost monster like being before him would snap him in half.

"I have live here 5 day."

@methodius:

"What have you been eating?" he asked, curious. Did this man possess monk-like powers as he did?

@supra-man:

"I don't need eat" As a god he had no need to ingest food. His vessel was simply kept alive by his powers.

@methodius:

Fascinating, he thought, standing in the snow. He had no desire to remain on the mountainside.

"Do you wish to accompany me inside?" he said, approaching the temple. The man was interesting, but he was here for the stories.

@supra-man:

"No, you accompany me inside."

Methodius led the way into the temple.

"Why you come to the Temple of Naught."

@methodius:

He followed, again surprised by the man's demeanor. It seemed he was becoming more articulate; perhaps he was remembering smatterings of English, which he may have heard before, long ago.

"I came for the sake of coming," he said, entering the temple behind the man who claimed to be Methodius. "It is a forgotten wonder."

@supra-man:

So he didn't believe. If he was a believer he would have come to worship but instead he came to see the temple itself.

"This temple gone but no forgotten. Bury under ice and snow for years. Me bring up to the surface."

@methodius:

"You excavated it?" Kris questioned, running his hand along the wall. It was growing difficult to see; soon, he'd need to light a flare. The man was clearly accustomed to the dark, or at least, the structure.

@supra-man:

"I use my power to pull from the ground."

His hand shifted upwards until it was at the height of his face. Purple bolts of dark arcane power arced across his fingers creating an unnerving glow that cast dancing shadows along the stone walls.

@methodius:

So he's powered. And perhaps divine...

Kris accompanied him through the rock-tunnels, purple light highlighting his handsome features as he strode alongside him. He clasped his wrist behind his back, head held high despite the presence of a meta-being. He was not the first Kris had met, nor did he intend for him to be the last.

"This power...what is it?" he asked, admiring the magenta glow.

@supra-man:

"The corruption. It eats mystical energies and turn them into corruption."

His words were flowing smoother now, his voice also began carrying small hints of emotional changes. Fluctuations in pitch as he began to put together how to speak with people.

@methodius:

He grows more eloquent. What is happening?

"Corruption, you say...in what way? Is this a natural power of yours?" he said, descending even further along with the God-King.

@supra-man:

"This is my power only. It originates from me body."

The god king found himself speaking more to the man as if he had someway to convince him to speak on his past. Perhaps it was the human trait known as charisma.

"The day I was brought into this realm hundred of year ago this power was created."