(Tiamat)
I leave the sea behind.
Not bodily, not literally, but in spirit, in positioning, in the extension of my power. For the first time since I created this world, I do not bind myself by obedience. I do not command the waters to bear me.
I step out of certainties.
The Primordial Sea separates, anyway.
Not out of obligation—out of choice, because it remembers me.
The transformation is not a rip in space. Xyrrath no longer works in these brutal demarcations. The world grows thin, like skin pulled too tight, and I migrate through levels of understanding until the sea is reflection and reflection is thought.
I emerge into a world that shouldn't be.
There is no sky here either, only a roof of slowly turning sigils, half-thoughtsponderously aglow. The ground beneath me is not water or stone, but more like coagulated belief—a darkness, slick and pulsing ever so slightly.
And waiting.
They all gather at once.
Not from just one side but from every side, as if this space itself chooses to dislike me.
The first wave comes out crawling from the ground.
Aberrations, wrong in ways that words cannot grasp. Bodies merged from incompatic bodies— fins separating into ribs, maws opening where eyes belong, limbs curving backward in spirals. Some of them labor along on wretched wings; others slither, leaving bits behind that proliferate anew.
They do not scream.
They "echo".
Every movement leaves a trace in the air, a residue of twisted motives. These are no mere creatures.
They are discarded answers.
Xyrrath's experiments in *
I raise my hand.
"The sea answers."
Rather, not as an order—but as an memory.
The waters rush upwards out of nothing, creating massive, translucent tides that cascade down with elemental power. The first rank of life vanishes instantly, their physical essences melting away into pale gas as my dominance annihilates their unpredictability.
And there's no break.
More rise. Hundreds. Thousands.
They adapt as they move.
Some have carapaces featuring etchings of counter-sigils. Others divide into groups of small bodies that throb with malformed strength. There are those that learn to avoid where instinct should not permit.
I show my teeth.
"So that's how you want this," I murmur.
|| Step forward—and beneath my feet, the earth melts away like wax beneath a flame. The ground transforms into an abyss of infinite depths.EXTEND my form—not in physical dimension, but in essence. The air presses inward beneath an unseen force that pushes against the edges of reality. ||
The Sea of Life stirs.
Water bursts forth in titan pillars, each unfurling like a snake before crashing down. Where it falls, whatever corruption is present is simply sent back to its birth, failing all meaning in mire-shrouded genesis.
I can feel it—my own power, vast and complex and ancient as the
The same power referred to by the legend of the Fate series.
The Sea-Mother
"The Beast that gives birth to worlds, that consumes worlds."
"The one who does not rule through dominion—but through inevitability."
The minions just keep coming.
They pour.
The ceiling shatters, unleashing whole waves of abominations. There are those that are dragon-like, with skeletal bodies that pulsate with an inner glow. Then there are those that are mounds of teeth and writhing appendages, mouthing broken incantations.
I raise both of my hands.
The sea rises with me.
"Return," I whisper.
The words are not a spell. The words are a truth.
A huge ring of water spreads out, a definition layered with authority prior to structure itself. Anything that falls under its influence is gauged—not as enemy or friend, but as life or impostor.
"The impostors fail."
Whole ranges of beings just fall apart into raw mana, unable to cope with the idea of origin. Xyrrath, however, has a good grasp of the lesson.
The next wave resists.
They do not dissolve.
They push back.
The sea trembles before the anti-concepts rubbing against it, threads of illogic intersecting throughout my rule. Some of the creatures go off with a violent explosion, their bits excavating into the sea itself, poisoning it.
I hiss, as my link crackles with pain.
"…You're close," I realize
Answering me is finally his voice.
"Closer than You Think"
The future stretches out in waves, and Xyrrath appears—not completely, not bodily. His body is an outline of purpose, his eyes aglow with silent fascination.
"You're not pushing it," he points out. "Good. You're learning."
I do not look at him.
Instead, I immerse my hands in the ocean.
The waters black out instantly-not with infection, but with depth. Pressures multiply exponentially as chasms in my realm of power stir from their slumber. It is no peaceful sea that sustains life.
"This is the ocean that remembers extinction."
Giant figures loom behind me: draconian shapes composed of water and will, each one an incarnation of my split powers. They bellow together and come upon the horde, bursting through unholy flesh in irresistible fashion.
Xyrrath laughs quietly
"Beautiful," he says. "You see? Creation wanted to struggle. It wanted friction. Your old way smothered that."
I finally turn to face him.
"And your way devours it."
"Only what cannot adapt."
"Another wave slams into me," I write
This is different.
This is different
These creatures are focused. Their bodies are streamlined, their appearance sharp. They attack in a pattern, aiming at the spaces between my formations, getting through with an unnatural accuracy.
I detect some ripping.
Not flesh.
Belief
For an instant, my authority wavers.
The sea hesitates.
I am staggering, snarling as several beings break through my barriers, locking onto me. They are burning where they are in contact with me, but they are still clinging fast, injecting twisted ideals straight into my feed.
*D
I aggressively pull them off, crushing them between my hands—and the pain stays with me.
Xyrrath cocked his head to one side. "You sense it, yes? The question?"
I breathe slowly.
"Yes," I admit.
Next, I straighten.
"And I answer it."
I do not repress the doubt.
I embrace it
The ocean gives way—not through resistance, but through increase.
Its magnitude stretches inward, becoming something more complex, more profound. Obedience, perhaps—but not blind trust. Trust based on comprehension.
My own strength is more balanced—not more precise, but more
Xyrrath's eyes narrow slightly
"That's new," he whispers.
I smile: feral,
"You wanted me to stop forcing the sea," I say. "So I did."
I raised my arms wide.
"And now it chooses."
The sea pushes forward in a unified, crushing tide—an ocean of creation and destruction. The rest of the minions are engulfed whole, their bodies smashed beneath the weight of primal truth.
Not destroyed.
*Resolved
When the waters retreat, the battle is deserted.
There is only one left:
He looks at me with something verging on respect.
"Well played," he remarks. "But you haven't stopped me."
I sense it too.
Very remote.
Kael
The strain. The pressure. Vorath's tainted essence beating against his repression.
Xyrrath catches me watching him and smiles knowingly.
"You can't be everywhere," he says softly.
"No," I agree.
"But neither can you."
I move forward, the seacurling around me like a living crown.
"And this ends with choice," I go on. "Not yours. Not mine."
He smiles widely.
"Exactly
The space shakes. The conflict is no longer about power. It is *about who creation believes when the final choice is made.* "And for the first time since this process started, I feel like I can I am ready to answer.
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