Gemorli throws out a peppering of spells. Each one deceptively lacking in destructive power as the temple stone holds its ground. Candles and more break apart, their metal forms becoming razor-sharp shrapnel. I make my way through the blood-drawing maze, coming out without any such results.
The air explodes, propelling me straight into another blow against the arch-traitor. Her magic bursts to life with two colours and then the other two. She tries to catch me in a cage of bubbling water, popping with electricity. Her fires eat away at the air instantly, leaving empty voids for the world to sink into.
She keeps on throwing out spell after spell. Their intricacies break apart and come back better than before. Simple vortexes and lances of pure wind. Mixtures of them all and traps of foreign origin.
I spin my way through another slew of spells and make my way against her. Her staff comes up to meet my shin, focusing her amplified power right against my blow. I blast away, keeping to the word of the divine artefact. My thoughts cling to each idea, putting them into my muscles to put them to use.
But... She's too strong. For all the power the Crown of Conceptual War gives me, for all the knowledge. She's no pushover. I don't know how long we've been fighting now. The cycle is going through the motions, changing as the intensity of the fighting gets worse.
Worse and worse.
She's matching me at every turn, doing just enough to keep me back and on my toes. I need to hurry along... I need to find the other pieces of Waionr's gear. The Crown of Conceptual War might be pushing my body to its limits, but it's not enough.
Ironic. I can shatter redstone now, I can break indestructible rock. But I can't break a mortal woman. I can't bypass her mortal-fuelled spells.
"Dammit..." I hiss so contradictorily calmly.
"This is getting tiresome." the arch-traitor so nearly swears. Her spellfire comes to a lethal stop and I move to exploit it. She twists around, her interests going elsewhere. I fly away in the back draft, forcing my way right out of it.
I shatter my way through the walls of the temple, desecrating it for moments of hurting her. Memorial columns go flying, mosaics crack and lose all the history that they speak. Catching on the unaware and spooking them. Ruining the dead even more than they already are.
Valkinvar of all three loyal Ordoars see us. They see the arch-traitor and think they can take her on. My eyes widen as a dozen Valkinvar of all shapes and shades die. A splatter of red that makes it impossible to discern how they died. She stops and spins, catching a temple guard by their neck and breaking it with so little effort in her twitching wrist.
"I might not be able to make quick work of you... HAHAHAHA! BUT I CAN CERTAINLY MAKE QUICK WORK OF THE REST OF THEM!" she works herself up into howling, a towering tornado with sparking, flaming limbs lacerating its way down into an open field. A once training field where its lessons are put to the ultimate test. It's packed with all Ordoars, loyal and traitor.
Her spells hit the area, tearing it up and ruining it forever. And, as the dust settles and the magic dissipates, it becomes clear who is left standing. Traitors alone. She moved her spell with such control to make it destroy the temple, kill Valkinvar... And preserve traitors.
The Crown of Conceptual War lights my mind with an idea and I fly off. I take a long wide loop, interrupting many duels and coming out of all of them soaked in blood. I crash into the cratered training ground, bursting through the insufferable lives of the traitors. One stays in my hand, screaming with such pure, confused terror and I lob her away.
The arch-traitor flicks her wrist, a ring of ruby and emerald catching the traitor. They burst into flames and then ash, a slight smirk coming up on her face. My scowl grows, even if the action matches what the artefact told me would happen. It would intercept a spell, though... Not quite how I imagined it.
"If I lose my sisters... No worries. I can train more. I can take on as many war-witch chapters as I wish. My love will be disappointed, losing so many Valkinvar turncoats... But, I can solve that. Killing all of you is my goal, after all, and a lie can so easily be made." she taunts, her evil making me growl.
"Betraying us all to the absolute, huh?" I question, rising into the air with her as she makes it her domain. A single, vast spell makes its way across the sky, slaughtering any too slow to avoid it. All but the traitors. Traitors who are more than happy to make use of their sudden new advantages.
Spellfire rains across the Grand Temple of the Four-Winded Valkinvar, lighting it up. The screams reach my ears whether I want them to or not. Her smile grows, and the air explodes. I shoot straight for her, latching onto her with both my hands as her magic all comes back to her. It buffs out the space where I am gripping, stopping me from crushing her bones.
She cannot stop me from driving her down, however. The wind howls against us, pushing back in pain as not even half a blink later sees us back on the ground. A volley of sudden spellfire freeing the arch-traitor from my grip. I give chase again, ducking and weaving my way around the spells of all kinds.
She dances off into the tunnels, blocking it up with a wall of Unondsburic Emerald light. I break it apart, sacrificing too much of my left over armour already. My body rolls along the ground, getting me up just in time. Fire lashes up for me, tickling my soles as the entire passage floods.
The arch-traitor screams with exertion, throwing the wrecking ball of magic my way. The artefact, surprisingly, asks me to go left. Into the wall, through the wall. I punch my way through such an odd path, finding so many loyalists saved in my wake. The great, violent outdoors greets me again, a magnificent sight awaiting me.
Sister Pymonsia rallies her Valkinvar-Wiswipide, scything their way across the traitors and their spells. Sister Aimaboryim calls so viciously for her Valkinvar-Imdvarce to push and push, the air practically breaking under the force of so many sonic booms. A mangled traitor flies out into the open, her corpse spinning out of control in its bloody mess. Brother Baalaeun trudges on out, another one of a particularly high rank caught in his hands.
He throws the woman up, rearing his war-hammer back and howling with city-shaking force. Already weakened plant hooks come on out, their contents shattering across the ground. A group of traitors burst into gore, the Noustoster-Valkinvar flying triumphant. Even Sister Pymonsia gets a moment of personal vengeance, her blade now dripping with the blood of the traitor who led the prior incident at the Great Bridge.
I glance that way, watching the fighting spread out across the abyss of the canyon. The artefact reminds me of the dangers, the limits people are pushing their bodies to. It pours power into my mouth, telling me to speak, not just a name. But three.
"PYMONSIA! AIMABORYIM! BAALAEUN! KEEP THE FIGHTING TO THE TEMPLE!" I roar, another, far more bestial roar accenting my own as screams filter down the halls to me. The shadow of a god-born lion barely comes to my eyes. Yet it still leaves me with a smirk.
My fist goes through the next wall, bringing me right before the arch-traitor and her goal. She gestures for the traitor temple guard to gather. This part of Thurnmourer-Jherikra all but belonging to the traitors. My eyes twitch towards the pile of sister Valkinvar-Imdvarce. A lone brother desperately holds what he can back, but he's dead before I can move.
I shoot through one traitor, spinning to into a kick for another. My hand catches on the temple walls and I bring them down, caving in the path towards the fallen man's charge. The sobs of wounded sisters were in there. I blink and pay attention to the room we're in...
The main building charged with the recovery of Valkinvar. The place the arch-traitor has been starving of magic so no one can be healed. The beds are broken, bloodied. Trails of blood along the floor like a soggy mop has been dragged through.
I growl as the artefact urges me to keep still for but a moment. The arch-traitor desperately works her way through the ancient stone, master-crafted by another artefact. A hidden treasure makes its way into view. Waionr's chest-plate.
The Crown of Conceptual War beckons me, save its thunder-forged kin. Take into possession the Armour of the Dying Cries. A grim joke with what has happened here. But I intend to make it beautifully light!
"STOP HER-" one traitor temple guard screams, my hand ripping through her armour and chest. The rib clinging to my grip cracks and I toss it aside. A wet collapse splashes behind me and the arch-traitor throws what spells she can into the mix. The air explodes, bursting again and again as my origins shout their pride.
Valkinvar-Imdvarce. Valkinvar-Imdvarce! A mere Valkinvar-Imdvarce! A mere Valkinvar-Imdvarce, the weakest of them all, claims the power of a god and heralds his championship!
I appear right before the arch-traitor, spooking her to relinquish the armour. Her attempts to change into it end and her magic fastens her Zaphadren-Valkinvar garb back on. Time seems so slow for me. Yet, as I land, find the last of my ceremonial gear gone and set aside. A new set of ornate bronze abs covering my deepest shame now.
So many voices scream in my ears, breaking my will to stand. I scream with all I have, kneeling in pain as it overwhelms. But the crown upon my head assures me like a loving parent, their protective grip keeping me safe. Calm my heart, I am safe.
My eyes open and I throw myself straight into the traitor, her scream lingering in my heart. Every soldier who has died and everyone who has ever died in war. The number keeps on growing and it forces me to remember each of them. Yet, it's encouraging, in its own way.
So many names I love and know... They're not there. They're free of death's touch. They're alive.
"Grrrr..." the arch-traitor growls, the end of her staff glowing intensely as the four colours of her hair seemingly bleach themselves. She aims her staff with such crude focus and recoils into the air as it fires off. The artefacts beg me to turn and meet it and I do.
Unondsburic Emerald, sapphire of Ibenorocco, ruby of Errakur, gold of Eusorochii. They all swallow me whole and clench down on me. The sphere eats away at me, nibbling at every spot and... Not even a tick's bite worth of blood comes from me. Even my sweat denies the chance to be feasted upon.
Both artefacts beckon me to push and I do, my tense muscles defining themselves as much as any statue might. All this magic tears itself apart and my eyes first meet a surviving mosaic of Waionr. Its permanently set gaze seems so different now. He's looking at me in pride. War himself is telling me something every child wishes they could hear of their heroes.
"You. Will. Win." the breeze throbs with, with even the traitors picking up on the noise. Blood runs down their ears, deafening them and making them regroup. The arch-traitor continues to back up, her escape route already in mind. My arms pop into open view and I stop the spell.
Her eyes widen, as do all the others, and I commit to the impossible. Moulding all four powers of the Guardian mountains into a single, pure orb. I expel what I do not know, steel melting fire, rock-blackening shock and drowning water. Leaving behind but a single gemstone of emerald that still bears my actual magic colour.
I look to it, laughing away so happily at the humble reminder of what I am. Veins pop across the heads of all of them, the finest mockery. Valkinvar-Staguiffmani of such pride and here I am... Holding an orb of Whisper Beryl in my hands, Whisper Beryl and it's all-powerful.
My feet shift, lining me up on my side. The Crown of Conceptual War guides my grip and I spin my arm. It leaves my hand, curling along my index and the world ruptures. All but the redstone shatters and I catch such an interesting treasure.
The traitor numbers are gone for now, and some of those who seem dead even start to cough desperately for air. I rush ahead of them, pursuing the terrified arch-traitor down another hallway. She spots the first opening and spins out into the open, a flower of destruction blooming around her.
All of her decades of training, of learning and superiority and it means nothing!