SOF: Mars. IC

The frigid vacuum and emptiness of space had set the culminating scene for the series of grueling duels. Clusters of distant galaxies twinkled in the dark horizon, holding secrets known to the select few as a near burning star glowed brightly. The atmosphere was completely void of sound say for the shifting of tectonic plates. The red ash and dirt of the planet, Mars, was rough and coarse. No signs or traces of life walked among the face of the terrain.

Only vast craters and mountainous structures had scarred the landscape while the heat emanating from the sun had radiated off the ground. Minerals ranged from various sizes of microscopic sand to enormous boulders while some had even been floating in oozing lava that flowed from recently erupted volcanoes.

Conjured oxygen had substituted the normally carbon dioxide filled air while artificially created clouds had loomed overhead. They had been filled with precipitation and electric currents that were brewing to strike the turf at any moment's notice. All four elements of nature had been forcefully invoked on the normally barren world. The strings of destiny had been intertwined, and here, the world of arcane arts to see where they would be severed.

OOC

• The final battle for Sorcerer Supreme begins!!!
• 10 post limit each!
• 24 hour crunch time beginning Monday! (Subject to change)
• The arena is located on mars with artificial O2, thunderstorms, erupting volcanoes, but is not limited to the planet. Posts may occur in space itself.
• Judges are once again @pyrogram and @_vex_

The skies of Mars were artificial, and yet, held a certain beauty to them. As the Reality Sage's eyes scoured the landscape around him, he admired the clouds that met a tangerine sky, and a slight grin crossed his lips. Looking down, now, he witnessed how the red hills rose up from the ground to scrape against the horizon, forming an almost perfect collage with the orange atmosphere above. Crossing his hands behind his cloak, he started to levitate up above the dusty ground, and glided around the nearby landscape. This was the battleground for his last duel... And, unfortunately, most likely his most difficult.

Maxwell had had a tough competition so far. Coming close to near-death against the one known as Maxwell Hastings, the one who sought out his blood so violently, to the likes of Kurt Saulenne, one of the most intricate sorcerers he had ever seen. Now, in the hills of Mars, the infamously alien 'red planet', he would make his last stand for Sorcerer Supreme, hopefully to end in less bloodshed than the other two. Already, he opened a green-rimmed portal next to him, and from it floated down a platter with tea, and cream, and sugar. All the basic components. Mixing himself a cup, the way he started the previous two battles, he crossed his legs, proceeding to fly across the barren wastes.

"I don't suppose I'm here to fight anyone?" He called out, as nobody was seen before him. Maroon cloak flapping slightly behind him, he enjoyed the silence for a moment, and with his right hand, made sure that he was connecting to all of the elements around him. The water in the clouds above. The lava, and fire, in the volcanoes. The earth in the red dirt below... And the air, of course. In this way, he considered some slight meditation, but thought better of it, instead opting to keep aware of his immediate surroundings. Mixing a spoon full of sugar into the cup of tea, he raised a lone brow, ears hearing nothing but the clink of spoon against china.

Nothing lies on this rock except for ghosts, he thought at first, until the arrival of two unexpected visitors surprised him.

@lichter@thisisgonnahurt

@the_reality_sage:@lichter:

A thousand years ago, I had purpose.

---

Lungs like cages, locking his breaths short and concise. He had no opportunity other than to inhale the burning air. It stung his eyes with crimson dust, blinding him to all other colors. He wandered and was lost, finding no roads in the desolation. He shortened his long pace to a calm murmur of movement, and then stopped, falling to his old knees.

Refuge came to him in that instant, the smoke of his corpse clearing in the midsummer breeze. He had been standing here for quite some time, though his body felt frail and uneasy. The pit of his stomach churned in torment. He knew his mission, yet quivered in unintelligible fear, knowing not of the end of his statement until he spoke of it through words he never memorized.

He bowed his head towards both of his would-be opponents, appearing before either of them in a dreamlike state of being. He existed, and watched them with tired eyes, but vanished like mist and reemerged such as a solid figure from behind a door. He smiled, honestly and endearingly.

"My friends," he began slowly and enticingly.

"I am sure whatever forces brought you here meant for us to do battle as we have done before. I can sense their voices in the air, hovering and going out of sight and mind as quickly as I can register them at all. Yet I am also sure of this final round - it is no climactic duel, but a forum. A gathering of some of the most potent sorcerers throughout all reality, though their number is significantly diminished as of late,"

He motioned towards himself now, clad in tattered robes and chains hanging from his wrists and throat. Red marks indicated freshly closed skin under the tight braces.

"I am Alzrahem Orion, Symaarian by birth, though not as you have heard of. My knowledge of the forthcoming doom has aged me considerably. My battle with it has turned my body into something I cannot salvage. My friends, perhaps you remember the attack that turned Gothic City into a charnel house? It was only the first step to something far more insidious than we could have imagined. Its ultimate instigator is a being that we cannot contend with alone,"

He laughed at this, the irony not hitting him until just now.

"For these are the scars of facing the Beast,"

He removed a layer of rags, his body underneath cracked and glowing with eldritch energies. Something further inside the wound shook and whispered, and the edges of its design crawled deeper and wider than before.

"It is neither physical nor real, though I will die. He affected me with a wound that attacked my metaphysical self, existing beyond the barriers of mortal time and space. As it dies, I will die, and I will cease to exist entirely. That is what I have been reduced to,"

Arguably once the most powerful of the mages assembled here, Alzrahem replaced his robes over his gaping injury and turned his full attention towards his hosts.

"A wraith in time, come back from a thousand years into this future, come back from a thousand years of preparation in battling the Beast, the Great Destroyer. In my native tongue he is called Yrawa'Murz, though your world knows him by a different name. He is Warsman, once-regent lord of Ragnarok, and mastermind of the attack on the Hawaiian Islands. These were only shadows of his power, mere clues to the depths of his collected hatred. He only needs to emerge fully in order to plunge all reality into chaos and anarchy. That moment is coming, no matter what we do here, and he is counting on a Sorcerer Supreme to be named here without us knowing of his ultimate plan,"

Alzrahem faded in time for a split second, his ethereal conscious fading faster by the second.

"I do not know where he will come. My people were enough of a sacrifice to warrant his partial emergence through the Dead Stars. Hundreds of billions of people, gone. Perhaps, with what little time I have left, we will be able to discuss what needs to be done so something like that never happens again."

@thisisgonnahurt: @the_reality_sage:

Mars

Stumbling onto the surface of the Red Planet, Lichter fell to a knee, coughing and disoriented. Adrenaline rush subsided, his pupils dilating as they adjusted to the relatively darker Martian surface. His helmet was failing him, processing air only incrementally; his breathing was laborious, deep, mechanical. He tapped the bottom of his armored neck with a finger, expecting the damaged headgear to retract. When it failed to do so, he clutched at it with his metal-covered hands, twisting it away his head.

The helmet fell to the ground, a puff of orange dust rising. Cloaked in his tattered cape and battle-scarred armor, Klaus looked around, noting the dramatic atmospheric activity as well as the slightly smaller sun.

Mars, with an atmosphere. Not the Andromedan dome, he processed, grabbing the helmet and rising to his feet. The sun was oppressive, but in the distance, rains fell, lightning striking the ground. Magic had come to the stars, and temporarily warped the world he stood upon.

He remembered not how the previous battle had concluded. It had been long, and violent, volley after volley of unique energies cast from hand to esoteric hand. He didn't know how he'd done her in, either, but he must have - for here he stood. He shook his head, looking off into the distance. He felt a call to the West, his instinct telling him it was to be the center of their arena. He pulled his verdant hood over his head, obscuring his face in shadow. The worn cape on his back draped down over his shoulders, and he began his march towards the others.

Later

He arrived in silence, face hidden within the folds of his hood. His arms and body, too, were concealed, a frayed green sheet wrapped tightly around his form. He inspected his opponents, the difference between which could not have been more stark. One hovered gently in the air nearby, legs crossed 'neath his body and a steaming drink daintily held in one hand. He was casual, but not arrogant, a serene intellect discernible from his posture and expression. The other was in even worse shape than the Delver himself, a body ravaged by conflict and adorned in chains. A prophet of doom, who spoke without end of the end, the coming of a being called Yrawa 'Murz. At the mention of Hawaii and Gothic, Klaus raised an eyebrow. He himself had stood, unflinching, at the very center of that firestorm, the bombardment which had incinerated the metropolis of crime. The dying wizard did not lie, and neither of them seemed to desire combat.

He thought for a moment, then moved a finger beneath his robes, focusing on his environment as one might a physics equation. A spark of electricity flashed out from his damaged right gauntlet, but it did not fail him. With a gesture of his hand, he called rock from the ground, a throne of red stone emerging from behind where he stood. In between them, a table of sorts would rise, craggy and scarlet, as well as chairs for the other two, should they desire them. As the dust settled, he sat, cloak falling behind his back to reveal his dented silver armor. In his left, hand, gloved, he loosely held his scorched silver helmet just as Hamlet had held the skull of Yorick. With his right hand, he drew from his hip the Death Ray, power pack largely expended from the last duel. He looked from side to side, then placed both objects on the table, drawing back his hood to reveal his pale face.

"The Sorceress Supreme is dead," he said, his hands folding together, elbows on the smooth stone table. His metal fingers were stained red.

"My name is Von Lichter. I've done what I came here to do. Earth is free."

He looked from the Reality Sage to Alzrahem, raising his eyebrows.

"As I understand it, I am now the - shall we say - incumbent Grand Magus," he rasped, allowing a tiny grin. "And Alzrahem preaches to us the universe's destruction. From what I gather, he speaks the truth."

He turned back to the Transcender, spreading his hands.

A man of reason and nonviolence. How did he make it so far?

"The most pragmatic thing to do is to decide which of us three is most fitting to replace our failed predecessor."

Though he did not touch it, the Death Ray upon the table glowed, an invisible finger resting on the trigger. It was aimed at no one wizard, though without a doubt, it may be drawn at an instant.

"The Sorceress Supreme...is dead," he repeated, with emphasis, "and I see no reason to kill again, this day. Combat will not solve this dilemma; if the title goes to the most fitting, then the presence of three of us has added a twist to the system. The first to strike may prevail against one foe, here, yet they will be weakened when facing the next. Undoubtedly, the ultimate victor will be the one who strikes last. We are in stalemate, yet the Warsman draws closer."

He nodded to Alzrahem.

A man who might seek to save himself with the power this position may grant. I must be weary of him.

"Clearly, then, we must choose, as Alzrahem suggested...peacefully. And we must choose well."

He tapped the table, leaning back in his seat.

"So. Let us share what we would each do with our power...and determine who is most fitting to bear this burden. Today, my friends, we sow the seeds of fate."

@lichter: @thisisgonnahurt:

The two sorcerers that the Sage was seemingly destined to try and kill walked up to him, one at a time. First, one draped in the deathly, ragged clothes that reminded Maxwell of a warlock, or doomsayer. Alzrahem Orion, he said his name was, and for a good bit of time, he spoke of things that neither he nor their third opponent fully understood. Taking a sideways glance towards the one called 'von Lichter', Maxwell hoped he wasn't alone in his confusion. Raising the teacup to his lips, he sipped it silently, eyes narrowed as he continued to listen. For a while the two before him spoke, as sayings of the future and introductions seemed to drone on and on. Alzrahem spoke of the apocalypse, or the next best thing to it. Lichter spoke more of the role of the Sorcerer Supreme, and the technicalities of the tournament.

Neither one suggested combat.

For that, Maxwell's thin lips turned to a wry smile, and he set the teacup down onto the tray, watching it float beside him loyally. Dropping himself out of the levitation, his moccasin covered feet gently landed on the ground, and he crossed his hands behind his crimson cape. "My name is Maxwell Cunningham, while we're all sorting through introductions. However, throughout the time that I have spent travelling the multiverse, I've come to be known as the Reality Sage." Saying the alias as lightly as if it was the weather, he started to pace in a thin line back and forth between Alzrahem and Lichter, always thinking best when he was on his feet.

"Now, I must say, I am delighted to hear that we do not plan on this coming to battle. My last two fights have, and I'm afraid they've taken quite a toll on me," He chuckled, as the runes on his body flickered, some of them still not fully working from when he drew them in blood against Maxwell Hastings. "In my previous two encounters I have sought a peaceful resolution, but alas, I have found none. Now, what would you suggest, for a means to discover which one of us is the rightful 'Sorcerer Supreme'? The faster we choose, the faster we may plot against this... er... 'Warsman.'"

As von Lichter asked about what the mages would each do with the power, Maxwell's eyes brightened. "I suppose if I was Sorcerer Supreme I would do all the duties the previous Sorceress did, to a greater extent- preventing global mystic disasters, collecting magical knowledge and taking it from those who abuse it, so on and so forth. To make sure that the world has all the spells necessary in case of disaster... And to make sure that we'll be ready if they're ever used against us." Cloak billowing in the strange Mars wind, he looked up towards the sky absently, awaiting the others responses.

@the_reality_sage: @lichter:

Alzrahem listened, and felt their genuine concern for the situation at hand. He had worried that they would think him a fool, and felt glimmers of that sensation from von Lichter, but chose not to pursue it any further. The Cyclops of Rasmus turned his attention to the stars, the vague shadows of them haunting the edges of the rampaging elements around them. A flash of lightning illuminated his features, most notably the pit where his right eye would have been.

"He is searching for us," he began.

"He knows the way to our reality, and yet he is conscious of our meeting here. He wants us to kill each other for the title,"

The tired, yet palpable, fear in Alzrahem's voice was rather uncharacteristic for a warrior who belonged to the genetically enhanced Warmaster-class soldier. His thirty-one brothers were all exterminated through a bloody and bitter civil war that lasted a thousand years into his future, a future he dreamed of and visited and lived. Nothing remained of the Symaarians throughout all the stars besides ruins and shattered hopes.

5,000 years of interplanetary nuclear conflict, of cannibal cyborg warlords, of Symaarians gutting each other in the streets over water. It could have ended at any time, but instead the apocalypse came when they seemed to be recovering from that unending spiral into societal insanity. When they created fleets of warships and started conquering the stars anew, that is when their weaknesses came to light. They were long ago made desperate for survival, gravitating towards anything that could keep their species going. Yet they were doomed from the start to fail and to disappear. Alzrahem took a seat, his old legs buckling under the weight of the chains.

"Yes, a Sorcerer Supreme must be decided here and now. Not through blood, but by cultivation of the soul. Somehow or another is has been we three who were chosen for this council, and no others. Perhaps they were cast down through ill will of their hearts or by weakness of the spirit, but it has become three instead of an entire congregation of elites from across time and space. Maxwell,"

He motioned towards the Transcender.

"I see within you a great deal of good intent, neither possessing the will to harm or to abuse your unimaginable potential. Yet just as that is a strength, it is just as sharp when the blade is turned against you. In the coming hours, it will be days unheard of. Of raining fire and gnashing teeth, of boiling oceans and screaming continents. Genocides have been carried out to bring the Warsman closer to our dimensional border, what do you think he will do once he is here?"

He paused, letting the pressure of his words sink into Maxwell's kind heart.

"And you, von Lichter, I sense that you are quite the pragmatist," he smiled, knowing the answer already.

"Yet for every plan, I wonder in turn if you have contingencies for truly everything? When this title is decided, when the stars bleed and all lights go out, what will you do with the greatest power that can be bestowed upon the magically-inclined? I am not doubting you, quite the opposite really, but it is often said that to see the measure of a man you must give him absolute power. Will it corrupt or inspire you, my friend? That is what remains to be seen,"

"As for me, I am old, so very old. I have seen the collapsing gates of infinity and the rising tides of the Void come to swallow our reality and take it back to the roots of the Yggdrasil, where all reality is stored, where all time and space is conceived and destroyed. I have seen the boughs of the Tree and dared to look deep into the blackness beyond, where Al'kash'mur the Devourer and his Children hunt hungrily for realities that are yet unaware of their predations. We are incomprehensibly small, my friends. Our reality is as a speck of dust upon a mighty Sequoia tree rising kilometers into the sky. Everything that we are or ever will be, is recorded, is remembered, but not preserved. Our reality will someday be reborn into a new, breathing concept, but it will not disappear. It will continue somewhere else upon the Yggdrasil, away from its new counterpart. I'm just afraid that the moment of rebirth is sometime soon, when the Warsman approaches. Between my experience, Maxwell's kindness and understanding of the human element, as well as von Lichter's exceptional planning, it seems that we were all chosen for a specific purpose for this title. It would be folly to destroy even one of those pieces."

@the_reality_sage: @thisisgonnahurt:

Steepling his gloved fingers before his unmasked face, Klaus regarded the magi before him with calm interest. Cunningham had answered his question with the calm resolve of a man who spoke the truth; there was just enough hesitation to signify consideration of his words, rather than a prepared answer. Meanwhile, Alzrahem's conclusion that they were all needed to face the coming threat rang true enough for him. What he did not say was that presently, he was in a vastly weakened state as well, his gauntlets quietly sparking with the strain that came from his last battles. To fight would be suicide.

"Absolute power, Alzrahem? It's anything but. The last host of the position is proof enough of that."

He leaned backwards, picking up his helmet and looking at the cracked lenses. He raised his eyes to the Reality Sage and Symaarian magus, inclining it slightly to the side as he spoke.

"This new reality you speak of - the notion of the Sorcerer Supreme will have no place in it. Things are changing. The barrier between the fantastic and the mundane has been shattered. Science and magic are one."

He replaced the helm, looking from Alzrahem to the Sage.

"One monitor for the mystic realm will not be enough. There are new fields of wizardry as well as mundane research. I represent human progress. Maxwell, conservative sorcery. And you, Alzrahem, the incantations of the stars. We all offer something essential, no?"

His eyes sparked.

"Id, Ego, Superego. Three, rather than one. Sorcerers Supreme."

@thisisgonnahurt: @lichter:

Maxwell's lips pursed, and he frowned, slightly, putting his chin in his palm. While the idea of becoming Sorcerer Supreme peacefully was ultimately Maxwell's goal, he did not want to become the Sorcerer based on a three way tie. Then again, he thought, as he glanced to Alzrahem, he did not want to have to kill his opponents either, as both of the two would most likely make wonderful contributions to the mystical world. "Indeed this is a different concept, Mister Lichter... One that is quite progressive for the world of the arcane." Nodding his head, Maxwell's rich thick accent rang out across the barren red fields, and he sat back down on the air.

"Three Sorcerers sounds like a charming idea. A council of mages capable of deciding how to deal with the solutions of magic, in it's more volatile forms... Really, I'm intrigued," He nodded, and as he folded his crinkled hands behind his back, he smiled wryly. Now, he turned his lightly graying head to Alzrahem, the smile fading swiftly.

"Mister Orion, I understand that my trust for peace and life is often abused by enemies. However, if I did not try, it very well may be me singlehandedly responsible for every casualty of this war. If that doesn't make sense, or you find it foolish, I apologize," He said, and bowed his head graciously. Alzrahem knew of what he spoke, but when it so strongly went against Maxwell's ethics, he had to defend himself in some verbal fashion. Turning back to Lichter, then to Alzrahem, he cleared his throat.

"So, a trio of Sorcerers Supreme. We'd have to discuss rules and such, how we'd meet, what we could do to rally others, so on and so forth, but in the end, I think it would be a delightful idea." Grabbing the cup of tea from the dish beside him, he once more drank, and set it down satisfied, wiping away some of the beverage from his mustache.

@lichter: @the_reality_sage:

"Sorcerers..."

Something changed in Alzrahem's voice.

"I remember now, the contract of my bondage here in this flesh. I was to deliver my message, a message I had never heard before. Only then would I be allowed..."

He stood suddenly, sharper and quicker than he had ever hinted at being able to before. His eyes were wide, his fingers gnarled and grasping.

"Allowed to die,"

He collapsed upon the red stone of the conference table, scratching into his scalp. Skin shuddered and flecks of blood spattered around in frenzied bursts. The Cyclops of Rasmus coughed and screamed, the realization constricting him, taking his breath. He looked ahead, a thousand years into the future, and saw his battle with the Beast come to an end. He died then, but was allowed to walk the stretches of the universe only by the will of his conqueror. A spell inflicted upon him, mightier than anything he had ever seen, and his soul was struck with the same wound he had shown the two earlier. It was no mere metaphysical scar. The gruesome canker had a will of its own, a manifestation of its master's power. It was a shadow of the Beast, a talon of his hunting hand.

His robes burst from his body, exposing the wound once more. He thrashed around in the dust of the Red Planet, bathing in the storm of pain, howling in a madness beyond madness, pleading in unspoken words for the pain to stop. For the nails in his mind to shrink away. Yet they dug in deeper, the confines of his skull no longer his own. The shadow emerged from beneath his clawing hands, hands that he was trying in vain to dig away the burning heat in his blood. He gave one last shout for mercy, hoping that his compatriots would flee, that the conclave would not be exposed to such an abomination.

Yet here they were, staring into the abyss, and Alzrahem ceased to be in that moment of terror, when a predator cornered two elements of its unfathomable hunger. The shadow took hold of either side of the Symaarian's head, and pulled. A sickening crack, the pulsations of wet meat, and suddenly the life that once flickered in Alzrahem's eyes, the hope for a brighter future and perhaps the resurrection of his people, was replaced with nothing. No emotion, no empathy, melancholy, or malevolence. It simply hung there, in the aftermath of the display, interested and curious about its surroundings, eventually settling in the seat Alzrahem once called his own. It developed a form of its own, humanoid and pure, blue skin and white hair, with a uniform indicating inspiration from one of the myriad metahumans on Earth. He placed his cheek into the recesses of his closed fist and simply... watched.

"Hello, my friends," he finally replied in a manner much like Alzrahem's, yet dipping down into the mysterious and unsettling. The shadow, living and hateful, almost quivered in anticipation of his birth.

Alzrahem had died a thousand years into the future fighting the Warsman, brought back to this hour by spell and circumstance to act as a living incubator for one of the Beast's shadows - perhaps his most powerful to date, in fact. The Shadows of Warsman were terrifying agents, meant to sow utter chaos and devastation upon entire galactic sectors before the Beast emerged in full.

"Be not afraid, for my presence is not the beginning of the end," he continued, standing calmly and slowly. Unimaginable power radiated from his azure skin; nothing like this had ever existed before nor should have ever been conceived.

"But it does speed things along."

@warsman: @the_reality_sage:

It had been too easy, of course. By no means could the climax of the quest be so simple. Maxwell Cunningham's sensible response to his suggestion had illuminated his eyes, the development of a new idea fanning the flames of his ingenuity. The competition was to be resolved without bloodshed; the authority of the Sorcerer Supreme divided, as he sought before. In spite of the looming threat of Yrawa' Murz, the future had seemed bright, the three most competent magi prepared to face him in tandem, rather than alone.

As said before, it'd been too easy. As Alzrahem spoke, the ominous change in his tone caused Lichter to sit up straight, an eyebrow raising. Glancing at Cunningham, he stood rapidly as Orion fell to the ground, Death Ray flicking back inside his robes and into its holster, for he sensed it would be of little use to him. He replaced his helmet with a click, sealing off the broken clamps with a basic telekinetic weld. The inner systems hissed and came to life.

"We are deceived!" he muttered urgently to Cunningham, the table crumbling away as Orion writhed at their feet. As much as he wanted to, he could not avert his eyes from the gory display before them, the birth of what could only be a shadow of the Warsman itself a spectacle no being may ever have lived to tell the tale of. The Octarine Oscillator screamed in protest, non-electromagnetic energies that blurred the fabric of space wrenching at his form. He felt his cloak drawn inwards, toward the gruesome specter, as though it had its own gravitational pull. The sinister aura emanating from the thing's form pierced even his mighty shields, making him want to retch in disgust.

The blue-skinned form the Warsman had apparently taken regarded them simply, with a basic calmness belying its intended purpose. A thing of chaos, it was; no amount of conversation or charm would ever change that. It wore a cape in mockery of Earth's defenders, no doubt. Even in the face of sheer terror, Lichter supposed that it was an uncommon style throughout the universe. Sweat beaded on his forehead, blood pressure rising as adrenaline coursed through him. He could not strike first, for all first strikes smacked of failure; he could only buy time for a joint strike, a combination of his and Maxwell's power potentially enough to destroy the horrid parody of life that faced him.

His movements concealed 'neath his robe, he cranked the Oscillator to high, focusing his thoughts to developing a metaphysical barrier between Warsman's shade and himself. A spherical bubble, invisible to the naked eye yet no doubt perceived by the thing, would envelop both him and Cunningham, hopefully to allow just a little more time for them to conceive a plan of some sort.

Don't let your voice quaver, he thought, knowing that the mask at least hid the look of panic on his features.

"Nothing ever ends," he retorted, not willing to try and speak more than three words. The defiant act of speaking against the thing was more important than the content of his reply. He glanced at Cunningham, readying himself for combat. His posture was defensive, one foot forward, the other back; his hands, while not raised, were spread apart from his sides, energy filling his palms and strengthening the barrier.

Two Sorcerers Supreme against the most powerful Shadow of Warsman, he thought, narrowing his eyes.

The odds ought to be better than what my intuition tells me...!

@lichter: @warsman:

In horror, Maxwell found himself forced to take a step back from the transformation of Alzrahem Orion, raising a shield in front of him to make sure any quick strikes did not occur. He had seen transformations of demons, lycans, and beasts that had no name to the languages of Earth, but this was entirely new. A new man forming from the ashes of an old one, wearing Alzrahem's face but bearing a different mind. Flying up a mere five feet into the air, he hovered back towards von Lichter, as the runes on his body began to illuminate. The idea of a trio of mages keeping a handle on the world's magic was a cute idea, but, of course, killing each other was equally as viable.

Orion had turned into a writhing mess on the floor. Maxwell's platter of tea fell to the floor with a mighty crash as he stopped paying attention, and the Transcender raised his hands in a defensive maneuver, shields forming in front of each palm.

"It's never so simple as just talking, is it?" He hissed through gritted teeth. Frustrated as the lack of peaceful resolution became evident, he connected to the elements around them, but did not act just yet. While the beast before them was some creation of the Warsman's, some servant or another, it was not necessarily impossible to reason with. Death and destruction were the instruments of savages. He would use no such things. Runes on his body fading, he began to speak, his voice loud if not hesitant. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" Though the Sage of All Reality assumed the thing was there to kill them, he needed to know what exactly it's purpose was.

If it was to come to a fight, he would have Lichter's aid, and that satisfied the Sage. Still, if what Alzrahem said of Yrawa' Murz was true, it would take the two of them together to even challenge this shadow of Warsman. "Speak, creation of death, or be silenced forever more." Brow furrowing, he dragged along some storm clouds from the skies above, and a gentle rain began to fall on all three of them, dampening the bright red dirt of Mars. All components to this world would be used by the Sage if battle were to come- all the elements included.

If he strikes, I'll try to summon a portal to a different dimension. I want you to force him into it. A telepathic message was sent to von Lichter, with the hopes that he would not shun away such mental tricks.

Now, to hope that he was not too late to try and reason with the shadow.

@the_reality_sage: @lichter:

The Shadow smiled, and for a split second in time, it seemed as if he had within his ivory maw a thousand teeth, glittering and menacing. Yet just as he had done this, he turned his head and observed his surroundings, infinitely intrigued by the wells of magic emerging on all sides. He took a few fleeting steps, not even touching the ground, and stopped, his cape wrapping around him in the harsh wind.

"You two seem upset. Of course, if you had met Alzrahem before the tournament had started, perhaps none of this would have come to pass. Or maybe one of you would have been my incubator,"

He innocently placed his hands behind his back. The Shadow merely stood there for a time, absorbing the contents of what he was born into - a majestic crimson world, lost in the throes of the arcane.

"It's magnificent, isn't it? All this power, raging in this epicenter of belief. I'm almost loathe to destroy it - but I'll get over it,"

He whispered in both of their ears, leaning in close from behind. With no prior warning, almost as if time stopped for everyone else and he moved in prime position to remove their heads. The Shadow maneuvered without a care in the world, his proximity to the two last contenders to Sorcerer Supreme with mere inches between them, knowing full-well of their multitude of defensive measures, and yet he did so flawlessly. He balled his hands into cruel, unrelenting fists, each one radiating with palpable strength and tangible hatred. Black-and-sapphire flames expanded from each knuckle, forming perfect spheres of pure Void. They continued to grow, encompassing all three of them if no action was taken, the energies within a searing reminder of antimatter, and of the antithesis of self.

Thirty miles, that was the limit he set for himself. He was still testing out his newfound power, having taken his first steps and spoken his first words not even five minutes ago. If he had the capability of erasing this world then surely he could prove it to himself by turning this platform for the Supreme Tournament into a smouldering crater. With an outward gesture, the Shadow caused the sphere to race forth, sending it to devour all in its path and return it to nothing.

@warsman: @the_reality_sage:

Ever since its creation, one of the most valuable elements of the Octarine Oscillator was its ability to sense the proximity and intensity of non-electromagnetic presence. Of course, when Lichter activated his shields to ward off the Shadow, the device detected a sharp drop-off in its specific energy signature, being distanced from the horrid spawn of Alzrahem's head. It stood to reason, then, that when the thing reappeared behind the two wizards, the Oscillator kicked into overdrive, a pulsating roar warning him of the thing's sudden re-positioning. Even as he received Maxwell's telepathic message (for his device had been damaged in the last battle, and had yet to be reactivated fully), he sensed imminent danger. To retain to a being as powerful as this was to court death. He was about to teleport away, but -

Cunningham! he thought, comprehending the man's plan. He constituted a tactical advantage, one which could not be sacrificed even in the face of Lichter's potential demise. As the Shadow's antimatter wave emanated forth from its fiery fist, Lichter shot to the side, the shield collapsing as his energy was instead directed towards the ground. Simulating flight, yet more akin to being shot out of a cannon sideways, he reached out, grasping for Maxwell's shoulder with an impact-absorbing telekinetic hold. The wild dive, if successful, would carry them at high speeds parallel to the ground away from the rising field.

After grabbing Maxwell, Klaus would fire with a single telekinetic repulsive blast at the ground, blasting away from the impact site at the speed of sound as the wave of un-existence chased behind them. The maneuver took a huge degree of effort, the gasping pseudo-wizard only barely outpacing the spheroid. They slid across the Martian surface, shields the only things keeping them from harm. Skidding to a halt, Klaus dug his fingers into the ground, dropping Cunningham once they were out of range (had he managed to grab hold of him, of course).

"If you think it will work," he said, turning to face the Shadow...only to find there was nothing behind. Emptiness, the product of anti-matter colliding with matter. Only the Shadow remained, floating above the ruin.

Klaus drew breath, mentally preparing for the next maneuver...one contingent on Maxwell's ability to open a hole into another plane. The moment the Shadow approached, Klaus would attack him with a sudden gravity well, the product of compressing space via telekinetic manipulation. By applying enough force on a central, tiny point, one might suddenly drag the target towards a singularity-like point. If Cunningham could open his portal at that precise moment, they would stand a chance.

"When you see your chance, do it. I'll be ready."

@warsman: @lichter:

The Sage's brow somehow furrowed even further, and as the Shadow spoke, his anger increased. This was, he could tell, a being that did not treasure life- rather, the opposite, a being of death. Energy flowing into his hands, he watched the evil monstrosity, until suddenly it was behind them- faster than Maxwell's eyes could follow. Whirling around, he began to fly away, creating distance, but the blast that the Shadow had created was far superior to his average speed. Antimatter flooded the thirty mile radius around he and Lichter, and for a brief moment, he considered turning into a gust of wind, albeit knowing that it would do no good against him. Eyes closing, he concentrated on his shields, ready to encompass the end- if need be.

But death never came to him, and as he opened his eyes, he saw himself flying through the air, watching the destruction of the huge mass of Mars land. Shaky eyes turning to the mage to his left, he saw Lichter, the one who pulled him from the wreck at a much faster speed, and nodded, head still spinning. "Thank you for that, my newly found comrade. I'm afraid we'd both be dead if caught in such a blast..." He blinked a few times, still shaking away the speed of all that had occurred. However, his ally was seemingly unaffected, and thus, he would try to imitate the posture. Raising his hands, he traced the two instruments of creation into a circle, cape beginning to flap in the wind, the portal being formed capable of waves of energy sent out into all directions.

In front of him, he witnessed the huge crater of destruction that the monstrosity had caused, a gape in the world of Mars that had once flourished with Mars' own sort of ecosystem. Now? It was a hole. This thing has a mere fragment of the dreaded Yrawa'Murz's power, and yet, it's capable of so much potential death... Beads of sweat formed on his brow from the idea of it. His mind focused not on the battle at hand, but on months ahead, where it would take the combined efforts of not just mages, but of the world to match the power of the Warsman. If even that could rival him. "C-creating the portal now," he managed in a hushed tone. If the Shadow began to come towards them, he would form the finishing touches, creating a gateway to an alternate dimension, one that he tended to send whatever villainous scum he could not face in normal combat.

A completely empty universe. Devoid of life. Planets, empty, and cold. The stars, fading, and dying. A universe filled with complete silence, with nothing to utter a single sound, where the mere concept of sound was completely alien as no being was there to hear it. Here is where he sent his current prey, if the trap worked. If the Shadow came not towards the duo, then he would forcibly move the portal towards it, using gusts of powerful winds to attempt to drag it in. "Begone with you, foul beast!" The Transcender cried, hoping to never see it again.

Here was where the Shadow would be lost forever more.

@the_reality_sage: @lichter:

The Shadow touched down in the epicenter of the blast, wisps of matter changing from solid to abysmal particles unsustainable in the universe floating around him. Nothing existed in his proximity, and all crumbled into void. Yet he continued to merely stand idle and smirk - a wide, focused mark of superiority plastered on his face. No sooner had his quarry escaped then they enacted their counterattack, a banishment spell meant to seal him away for all time within a pocket universe of absolute darkness. The Shadow lunged forward, providing a show of defiance as he leaped headlong into the portal and disappeared entirely.

Silence overtook Mars. Had the two Sorcerers won?

Meanwhile, the Shadow allowed his powers to take full effect.

Going from star to star in a matter of seconds, bypassing entire swaths of cosmic distance, rupturing gaping wounds in the fabric of temporal space with his pure rite of motion, the Shadow erupted not in anger - but in exaltation. Throughout the dead vacuum, one sound along echoed into the screaming chasms of nothingness. It was his laughter, a sound of praise as his body ruptured and began anew, becoming stronger with each passing eon he spent plummeting through space faster than light, turning physical age into little more than a microbe evolving under his skin.

Yet this was not the full effect of his purposeful imprisonment here. He would not waste away, nor could he, and his banishment was of little consequence. Something heard him in the thundering depths of chaos. A distant noise, wet and pulsating, a writhing palpitation, a dying heartbeat but one with unfathomable strength left in each shuddering motion. The Shadow plunged himself through temporal concepts, dimensional walls meaning nothing to his great power. Tearing open the very walls of the universe he found himself in, he floated back into the shimmering darkness as something far more powerful took root there.

Upon the corpse of a broken moon, the Shadow knelt and bowed his head low.

Two mountainous footfalls, the weight of all reality crashing down and smothering those who stood before it. The shape had crossed his arms behind his back, a gesture of his arrogance, as two glowing-hot orbs indicated where he directed the attention of his physical sight. As of now, he peered into the depths of the empty universe. Twin beams of light suddenly shot out from those ferocious eyes, encapsulating the Shadow and sending him away from thought and conscious - only to reappear elsewhere.

---

In a painful crimson glow, the Shadow reemerged where he had been sent away from, only mere seconds after the first portal carried him away. He was visibly aged, but possessed that same lithe arrogance his younger form carried. Of Maxwell's pocket universe, if he truly desired its continued existence he had chosen poorly. For though it would have been the Shadow's tomb for far longer, it was mere fuel for the fires of his master's cosmic war machines.

The Shadow did not address the two directly, at least not yet.

Instead, he lowered his head and took to a single knee, the posture of a loyal knight awaiting his lord.

For behind the two Sorcerers opened a second portal, one carrying a far heavier presence than a mere shadow.

The air became impossible to breath, harvested through a gravitational well focused on the iron will of a truly monstrous being. Tyrannical intent molded with an impossible murderous aura, the screams of untold dead echoed from his very being. The void of life must have been sickening, for only the completely lost and damned could stomach it in its entirety. Though he had not emerged fully yet, the Warsman was so impossibly close that he could grasp the physical plane and mold it to his will.

He plunged his fingers into the barrier keeping him mysteriously from the CVnU, tearing into it and almost coming through. Yet he pulled back, regarding the Sorcerers as little more than amoebas in a petri dish while he held the microscope. With a dismissive turn on his heel, he folded his arms behind him.

"Let it be done."

No sooner had he said this then the Shadow was upon their backs once more, cold killing instinct blending into a blinding mastery of movement. Magic could only keep him at bay, for he hunted the Sorcerers with open hands, seeking to crush the life out of them.

@warsman: @the_reality_sage:

Within an instant of their supposed success, Lichter relaxed his stance, eyes closing in relief. Yet they snapped open once more as a terrible crack filled the Martian air, the Shadow spiraling through triumphantly. The terrible thing looked older, yet more complete; not at all had it seemed diminished by its voyage through wherever Cunningham had sent it. Klaus had assumed it would face instant destruction, but apparently his partner's choice of universe was one more suited to...

Anti-matter? he thought, furrowing his brow. The effects on the Martian surface seemed similar to what had been described by physicists worldwide. Perhaps there were a way he could turn this knowledge to his advantage.

But the planning process would have to wait, his defenses already up. Yet the Shadow knelt, an ominous presence suddenly perceptible behind him. At his feet, orange dust pulled backwards, his cape also rising as the gravitational pull of something subtly affected what seemed to be all reality in the area. The hairs on his neck stood up beneath his armored suit, a dark presence manifesting out of his line of sight. Despair pulled at him, yet by some unknown means, he fought it; perhaps the overexposure to Octarine energy had left him truly dead to the universe, the overwhelming hopelessness that was said to herald the arrival of the one he sensed not quite enough to scramble his brain.

A bead of sweat rolled its way down his forehead as he heard it speak, fighting the urge to turn and face whatever it was. Lovecraft taught that to stare at the presence of something like it without preparation was to invite madness into the mind. He could not trust Maxwell to be as inclined.

Do not look at him, Cunningham, he thought wildly, eyes wide. He had to formulate a plan...

But at the Warsman's words, the Shadow overtook them, flying at blinding speeds towards the Legacy with a hand outstretched. It was brought to bear on his steely throat, a hastily-erected telekinetic barrier just enough to save the Architect of Order from instant annihilation. The force-shield boiled where anti-matter collided with it, the Shadow's fingers inches from Klaus' neck. Before the sudden impact and acceleration could break his neck in two, he instinctively clicked his teleportational device, vanishing from where the Shadow sought to take him. It was only by miracle of his Octarine energy field that he might even react to such a blow; even then, he'd barely escaped, reappearing where he'd stood a moment prior to the assault, mindful of the dark presence behind him.

He turned, not his whole head, but only half. The left eye, behind the lens of his silver mask, would be the only one to glimpse the Beast. It could not be fought; heart racing, he thought of another place, another time he'd faced odds that seemed impossible.

Nothing had changed but the scenery. Knightfall and Yrawa 'Murz, both relatively beyond his strength at each time, both proportionally terrifying. Behind him, glimpsed with but a single eye, stood nothing more than the Black Bat. He willed it, repeated it in his mind. He forced himself to believe it.

He did as he did before.

He spoke.

"Yrawa 'Murz," he said, voice artificially calmed. Beyond his sorcerous powers, beyond his technical innovation - he was a talker. Yet what good would it do him?

"Tell me, Von Lichter, Slayer of the Sorcerer Supreme...why you are."

@lichter: @warsman:

As the Shadow was seemingly banished forever, Reality Sage chuckled in relief, and dropped his hands wearily to his sides, the runes fading on his body as he did so. The beast was gone, subjected to a universe filled with emptiness and loneliness, a place that would drive most beings mad. He turned to Lichter with a grin on his face, wiping sweat from his brow with a kerchief as he spoke. "Well, I'm glad that ordeal is over-" he began, before witnessing the opening of a new portal just in his peripheral view. Turning his head once more, his expression changed to one of horror as from it emerged the monster that they had so desperately been combating, looking even larger and more intimidating than before.

Maxwell's mind raced through the possibilities of how such a thing could occur. Eventually, it became evident- The Shadow of Warsman focused his energies, rebuilt himself into a stronger being, and then traveled back in time and space to come kill them both, stronger than ever. How naive of me to think such a banishment would work, he scolded himself internally, and two runes came to life on his body, as he prepared to initiate combat once more. The Shadow would not succumb to banishments, and could travel seemingly all across the multiverse. That meant that it would have to be killed...

Now, if only they could kill it.

As combat began once more, The Sage prepared to summon lightning to slow the monster, before it came down to it's knees, almost as if it were bowing to something...

The air changed, growing thick, and heavy, and he felt himself almost wanting to be dragged back. Something was behind them, and he began to turn around, before a telepathic reading of Lichter's mind managed to save his life-

Do not look at him, Cunningham.

Nodding, he turned back around, facing the Shadow once more. Sweat started to roll down his face once more, and he prepared himself, an arsenal of spells crossing his mind. Finally he came to a conclusion- a powerful one, that would drain him of most magical power, but one that would be necessary if they were to stand a chance. An ultimate combination of magic and quick thinking. Activating a shield barrier around him as soon as he heard the words from the Beast behind him, he witnessed the Shadow come within an inch of slicing his throat, the bright blue coat of armor cracking significantly. Lucky, that, he thought, as The Transcender was almost certain he'd be dead if not for the armor.

Now, he formed from the mystic energies he held within three pairs of arms, much resembling the Hindu gods of old. The arms spread out, and each one formed a portal of arcane light, a brilliant blue that was almost enough to blind those who witnessed it. "For having to do this, I am truly sorry," He called, as the portals spread out wider. From them, the clamor of war could be heard, and soon, charging out of the portals, armies of death and destruction came forth, demons of fire and blood from a dimension unheard of. Serpents made of purely fire, knights that served no god, imps that lived to harvest the flesh of whoever crossed their path.

They all hungered for war, and they soon found it, with the Shadow. They charged, and The Sage silently thought of a prayer for the soul of the beast he faced, so that it may fare better in the next life.

I'm sorry.

@lichter: @the_reality_sage: @renn_kelen:

As the Shadow maneuvered across the Martian surface, each blow he landed uprooting more and more of his foes, his master converted his idle attentions to a single wayward glance in von Lichter's direction. No one had been able to stomach more than a few moments this close to him, and yet the resolve of the Earth-man proved suitably... interesting. The Shadow came dangerously close to ending Maxwell's life several times, each attempt ending with him being dragged out mere feet away from the fleeing Sorcerer's physical form by a new army of apparitions. He did not tire, he did not care about his injuries. Wet meat snapped apart at his elbow joint, but he healed it instantly. Facial flesh peeled away, but the hatred in his eyes continued to burn insatiably.

Warsman reached out a hand for von Lichter, the silver-blue glass-like barrier keeping him from this reality coldly biting at his fingertips. He was so unfathomably close now, and then all would die. This was an experiment to him, and he recorded data on some machine hidden in the impermeable darkness, obscured by the bend in warped space-time. Von Lichter's words, too, fell short of very little besides stenography. Yet he replied, indirectly at first, but it was farther than anything anyone prior to the land-baron had accomplished.

"Biomass attempting communication. Words are faint, barely legible. But understandable through playback. Response: further investigation of 'von Lichter'. With the combat capabilities of the pacifistic one, Subject M/C 837, similar results have been drawn. Save them for last."

Without a further word, the Shadow expanded almost instantaneously, overtaking their half of the planet in impermeable darkness. When it subsided, the Sorcerers Supreme were gone, transmitted back to Earth with a show of force that redirected their molecules via impossibly quick and widespread portal generation. What the Shadow had done was nothing short of terrific, but a subtle glow of horror would overtake this realization of such primal power. He knew where Earth was, possibly owing to the fact of Alzrahem's prior memories studying star-maps and intergalactic highways.

At any rate, the battle on Mars was finished - for now. The window from beyond the Void quietly subsided, and the Shadow along with it.

Elsewhere, a planet was dying.

Kashyyyk, long the refuge of the arboreal Wookiee race, fell under fire in the first dreary days of what some would come to call the Infinite War. Though a miniscule strain of the Horror bio-weapon by comparison to what would come, it careened into the forest world like the fury of an ancient god. The Wookiees possessed very few weapons that could be considered long-range artillery, let alone orbital defense arrays. Therefore, the resulting battles for the overgrowth were to be waged in uncompromising close quarters, with Wookiee rangers dictating the roads. Many times, the Horror organisms would enter into the jungle and never return. Though, the monsters that lurked within were just as vulnerable as any to the viruses these creatures spread.

One bite, one scratch, one errant spray of bile or saliva and they were lost to the brain-rot, the madness that lurked within the chemical configurations of walking death the Horror constituted as its first wave of attack.

However, a Force-sensitive yet remained on Kashyyyk, a native who had returned to undergo his trials as a Jedi Knight in order to pursue a higher calling in his Order. Nothing could have prepared him for something such as this, a trial of such grand undertaking that it held the fate of his people in the balance. His name, Kyraggash, was roared over the treetops as he rallied counterattacks into the green void, surging ahead like a berserk beast with lightsaber and claw, decimating hordes of the undead creatures. His hold on the Force allowed wounds to be cleansed of the virus, and pushed its spores back wherever he went. And yet he was just one warrior, amongst a planet full of crisis.

And it would only escalate from here.

The Eyes of the Enemy were drawing nearer.