Board Thread:Fun and Games/@comment-26295802-20151123003722/@comment-26444332-20151124162618

Aramir, here you go:

Seraph sucked in a breath of chilled air. It was a good day to die.

The arrayed armies of the Shattered Compact stood before him and the armies of the Shal'va and Tel'kii. Every army was there, from every corner of the Multiverse. Dwarves from Barterra, Nords from Núrn, Elves from Arda, and even the Parshendi of Roshar were there, all standing against one another.

And above them all, on the Infinite Plain between the Voids, was Seraph and the forces of the Avenged. Seraph tried to remember what the mages were called, but he couldn't. That was the funny thing about being omniscient; You could only know what you could remember. Planeswalkers, yes. That's what they were called. Seraph turned to the scene before him.

The armies were clashing, the screams of wounded beings and the war-cries echoing through the cosmic battlefield.

"Why'd it have to be here? Of all places? I regularly ravage Alethkar, but this is a bit close to home for that." Seraph thought out loud. With a sigh he summoned the Faithful to him, his friends surrounding him and overlooking the titanic battle between the Fates and the Heralds.

"What is this? What's happening?" Fingon asked, his blue banner flapping in the starwinds.

"This, Shel'Kanthar of the Ñlldon, is the Desolation of Crynessa. Or, as some put it, the End of the Mouse. Whichever you prefer, though I'm partial to the latter." Seraph replied, pulling his battlestaff off of his back, the edges of the twin blades gleaming in the starlight and the Everwhite surrounding him.

"Why that?" asked Dalinar, his Shardplate still cracked, Stormlight leaking through. "Isn't that a bit odd? Why a mouse?"

"Why indeed? I would tell you, but that would not make you believe. You could just take me at my word, but you would be foolish to do so. If I told you, for instance, that we are all the products of imagination and we are but words subjected to the whims of a writer, would you believe me?"

"No, I would not. We're real." affirmed Chandra Nalaar. "As real as the things we burn."

"Ah, but you would think that. Or perhaps you don't. But it's all just willy-nilly." Seraph replied, his words confusing as the Faithful had come to expect. "In any case, we can expect that this World will fall if I don't do something."

"Then why don't you? You have the power: I've seen it." asked Kaladin. "You gave me the ability to Surgebind, at least."

"Ah, but you see I should not interfere. If it is the Will of Eru, I cannot gainsay it. Who am I to unleash the Plane-eaters,"at this he gestured to the three Eldrazi Titans" on the armies of every Realm of reality?"

"Because you must." A feminine voice said, though regal and tinged with authority. Seraph whirled around to face the Faithful who had spoken.

"Ah, the lovely Snow Queen. My dear sweet Elsa, how have you and your nation been? Assuming Arendelle hasn't been cast into the Fracture, of course. Terrible thing, us fighting over whether to fight over your homeland." the Primordial being replied, his voice disjointed and angular, as if he was speaking from a great distance.

"I hate it when he does this." said Luke.

"You know, you Skywalkers and all you Faithful have a lot to learn about me. I mean, it's not like you were present at the Fracture, when all the one big happy universe with one big happy flat world was split into tens of millions of flat worlds which later became round worlds." the Primordial spoke, never turning his head. He then looked to the Eldrazi Titans: Em-rakul the Aeons torn, Ulamog the Infinite Gyre, and Kozilek, Butcher of Truth, in many ways the weakest of his brothers.

"Ish ma'anther, kar'jai til kaa." Seraph said to them, the language one of many once spoken in the distant past, before the Infinite War and the Shadowdays.

"What did you say to them?" Fingolfin asked as the three Eldrazi began birthing the relentless Spawn which served as their armies.

"I told them that I would not abandon the Plane below to a fate worse than Oblivion." replied Seraph. "If you want more than that, go learn the bleeding language yourself. Vor'Kanar will only take you a Shadowday to learn."

"How long is a Shadowday?" asked Glorfindel, genuinely curious about the mysterious 'Shadowdays' from before measured time throughout the Shards, just after the Fracture.

"About four billion years, measured in Ryvaelian time. So to a standard Ardan timepiece, that's about six and a third trillion years." replied Seraph. "We organized it into a year. Fifty days to a year, and it took forty Shadowyears to bring about the first Elemental War. We were smarter then. We didn't use so many swords or bows or spears or tactical nuclear ordinance. We used magic. Plain and simple, harnessing the Seven elements of Earth, Fire, Air, Water, Æther, Nether, and Time. Time was particularly favored by one race. I think they called themselves... Time masters? Time kings? Oh, right. Time Lords. Terribly arrogant, that lot. I never could stand them and their infernal numbers. Always made me want to throw away the contents of a Horneater's stomach. Too many spinning nonsensical wheels for this Primordial." Seraph said, never stopping for breath as the Eldrazi began to move their Spawn forwards to the battle.

"Seraph, focus. You can't wander off on tangents. We know you've seen a lot, but right now we need the Sword of Ilúvatar, not the kind but crazy old guy." Dolinar said, clapping Seraph on the back with an armored hand.

"I can't unleash the Sword inside of me. Not yet. If I did, everything would die. It must be controlled, and very few things can stop me in the State."

"Seraphim Stormweaver, you will preserve everything like you always do. I have faith in your utter ability to save everything when it needs it and to bring down everything when it doesn't." said Elsa firmly. "Now, do what you always do. Save the Worlds."

Seraph inclined his head to her slightly.

"As you wish." was his reply. And then he jumped off the cliff.

The Faithful ran forward to the edge, to see Seraph riding the cliff as if it was a wave. He skidded off at the bottom and approached the armies at a full on run. When they saw him, the soldiers tried to flee, knowing their doom was at hand. Seraph flicked open his eyes, which had been closed the entire time. The prismatic orbs stared out, the rainbows in his irises swirling like opals.

"I am the Sword of the King. I am the Wrath of Ilúvatar." he whispers.

The lines loomed before him. Fifty feet. Twenty feet. Ten feet. The terrified looks on the eyes of the warriors in front of him.

Seraph thrust his right hand forwards, his left holding his battlestaff. A tiny sphere of light shot forward, burying itself in the knot of soldiers. He clenched his fist and it imploded, sucking all the light out of the air and leaving only smoke and shadow. He cut them all down efficiently, his blades a deadly arc of silver and steel. He stepped out.

Every warrior on the field had stopped fighting. All of them were looking at him. They knew who he was, what he was. They knew that he would be unstoppable, unless they could kill him before he entered the State.

Seraph moved into Windstance, one hand held forwards in a come-at-me gesture.

"Well?" he said, and every army charged him. Seraph's grim smile didn't reach his eyes.

--

When it was all over, most of the armies were dead. Seraph stood in a sea of limp bodies, all of them cut down by his hand. He wanted to retch, wanted to throw away the contents of his stomach by what he had done. But that was the Curse of his Kindred: To feel the sins and horrors they commit, and to never be able to express it. It was a horrible thing, never being able to say you were sorry. He just wanted to be able to confess to someone his hate of the deplorable things he did, in the name of Justice. In his mind, there was no true Justice, not like this. He was commanded to save, and he did so by killing the armies and by extension most of the populations of at least a hundred Shards? That was true madness in his mind. He saw the remaining forces edging away, though their Kings thrust their mages and Surgbinders and benders forwards. Seraph sighed, knowing that there was still yet more of his work to do. He turned towards them- and stopped. For he could finally See. The great Shadow, the one behind everything. Many had names for him. Morgoth, The Nightwatcher, Lucifer, the First Fiend. Seraph preferred his True Name, but of course he couldn't say that without being burned to ashes. That might hurt. So he took a new name to him, and called the shade Noir.

"Well? There is yet more. Perfect Peace, they say, is the ultimate goal. Mercy is always given. However, there is also Perfect Justice, for whom there is no mercy, only what their Reward is." Seraph cried aloud. The magic users looked puzzled, and then attacked. A swirling onslaught of the elements that he couldn't hope to dodge. But he didn't need to.

Seraph caught the tempest of magic on his fingers, in much the way that firebenders could redirect the energy of a bolt of lightning. He turned it around, launching it at them. They toppled like ninepins, their kings undefended. And yet. Seraph turned to the Shadow.

"I see you. You are always behind it. So come, and fight, unless you are craven and a lord of slaves." Seraph shouted at it. It moved, as if angered. "Well. That got your attention. Been called that before?"

With a roar of anger the Shadow coalesced into a man in black armor. He was of pale complexion, and his eyes were black. His irises, interestingly, were a deep bloody red. He also had a large broadsword, and Achlysial energies in his offhand.

"You've ruined everything!" he cried, and charged, sword held high.

Seraph's battlestaff morphed into a long single-edged blade. A katana, that was it. A bright silver katana with a grey grip. They met, swords swinging. Seraph ducked under the first blow, coming up with a vicious jab with his fist into the Fallen One's chin. He stumbled back, black blood seeping from the cut.

"You should have worn a helm. Makes it harder to do that." Seraph chided, and Noir screamed with rage and attacked.

Time seemed to slow. Every blow both swung seemed easier to block and counter. To the others it must seem a fluid dance of flesh and steel, an intimate encounter of mind over metal that could only end in death. No words will be able to describe this battle as well as seeing it before your own eyes, thought Seraph. That or the writer of my sad life can't do one-on-one combat descriptions very well. But he can see them, he just can't find the right words. Oh, what does it matter.

Seraph and Noir finally broke apart, both breathing hard with the effort gone into their strikes. Seraph took a breath, steadying himself, then heard Celebrimbor from the top of the cliff.

"Enter the State of Being!" the Elf of Eregion cried.

Seraph nodded, finally ready. He loses his eyes, feeling the energies around him, the Æther flowing through everything and everyone. He could feel the crystalline blood pulsing through his veins, the formless Void rushing through the Eldrazi. He could feel everything. When he opened his eyes, they were no longer prismatic, opalic in the light of the Multiverse. They were a solid color, glowing softly. White, with grey irises. A good choice.

Seraph thrust one hand forwards, a Full Lashing keeping Noir in place as he began flowing through elemental stances taught to Benders, summoning the Seven Elements to cast this Spawn of Night back into the Abyss. When he spoke, it sounded as if hundreds were speaking through him, and an unseen choir was singing.

"I am the Sword of Ilúvatar. I bear many names and titles. Seraph, Raphael, Elvëon, Stormweaver, Nightrender, Windchaser, Snow King. But I have always been One Name, one title. And that is in the First Tongue, and it is the Light-Never-Dying, Kuneviir, the Seraph of Knowledge and Solace."

As he spoke, he kept twisting through the Seven Forms, each of the Primal Forces surging through him to encase the Fallen in a cage that he could never escape.

"And so you are defeated, Noir, Hokzii, Defiler, the One who Men call Satan. You shall not trouble this World."

Noir laughed, spittle flying from his cracked lips.

"You can't control me. No-one can!"

"Perhaps not. But it is not for me to defeat you. You have already been defeated, I am simply sending you back to the Fires prepared for you and your armies."

Seraph thrust his hand forwards, and the cage and Noir with it disappeared, the foul devil screaming with rage. The Æther left him, and he stumbled, nearly falling. The Faithful were there, all around him. And one in particular.

"My lady Elsa. What a pleasure." he murmured as he drifted into unconsciousness. Was that really a kiss she had given him? On the lips, no less? It seemed so far away, the light of Elbereth. He had to stay awake, but the ground seemed so soft...