Haven and Hellstorm
The woman once called Lilith grabbed the horrified guard by the throat, then slammed her hand into a fist, watching as his flesh liquefied and crawled along her armor. Streams of red and pink and grey were guided towards the violet disk on her back. She kneeled. Holding one hand above the ground, flesh began to stream back out of the disc, accumulating in layers on the ground in the print of paws. Building from the ground up, Lilith raised a Hound of War from the siphoned flesh of the hapless sentries. Once, she had been horrified by such displays of power. The only times she had seen them were when the Ki-rin butchered her children like animals. Now Lilith understood. It was not the action, but the intent that mattered.
Lilith had been many things, once. She had been mother, progenitor, caretaker. She had been rebel, renegade, a bringer of change. She had been warlord, leader, soldier. She had been lover, betrayer, destroyer in ages long past. Now she was the Splicer. Now she was the Eschaton. That would be all. That was all she needed, all the world needed.
Lilith commanded the Hound of War to find any cowering guards. It raised its scaled snout to the air, sniffing for fear, then launched itself down a corridor. Strolling in pursuit, Lilith began to make gestures and speak words of power. Behind her, a splattering sound echoed throughout the recently vacant hallways. The Ascendant would never know what had destroyed this outpost. Not that Rax's soldiers were the reason that Lilith was here.
Rax. A kindred spirit, perhaps. A fellow rebel. Someone who wished to change the world, to defy the races that controlled it. How history repeated itself. The difference between Rax and Lilith was that Rax wanted change. She believed that the world could be better, perhaps with her in charge. The avatar of destruction had no need for change. The world fell into cycles, as evinced by the Ascendant. It was a corrupt universe, and it needed to be cleansed. Oblivion was preferable to evil.
Lilith left her Hound to execute the remaining sentries. The Splicer approached the central vault of this outpost, examining the material. It was a room-sized cube of metal, runes carved on its surface and thick magical auras flickering around it. Lilith drew her sword, a great blade of white gleaming metal that had a large hole cut into it. The sword appeared to warp around the hole, creating a slightly flared area. Lilith detached the violet disk from her back and slotted it into place, then raised the sword. Taking a step forward, she brought the blade down into the vault. The magic auras shattered and were absorbed and the matter was siphoned into the disk.
Such power she held. Lilith was never surprised anymore, but her past self would be amazed at the powers at her command. The Siphon and the blade were deadly, assuredly, but the greatest gifts of the Eschaton were less material. Unending patience. Immortality. Perception. Wisdom. Finally she had a chance to use them.
The inside of the vault contained an ancient summoning circle. The stone that it was carved into was made of sandstone, magically preserved. Lilith sheathed her sword, returning the Siphon to her back. With the stored metal, she began to fill in the carved runes, ruining the circle. A faint white light flickered from the circle, then faded. Lilith's work was done here.
The Splicer was many things. She was still a rebel, a mother, a warlord. She was still lover, betrayer, destroyer.
But she wasn't Lilith anymore.
The spirit once called Kasha stalked the man through the streets of Veros. Every time the man turned around, eyes watched him, four triangles of violet light. He was getting panicked now, stumbling more and more. Kasha dived into the street, then emerged in front of the man. Horrified, he staggered backwards, losing his balance and falling. Kasha reached one umbral claw into his chest, and the man grew very still. The spirit phased into the man.
How lovely it was to be encased in flesh. A physical body, a physical mind, physical purposes. How lovely it would be to have flesh to inhabit. The Splicer's children were so fragile, shattering so easily. Kasha's shell reached into its pockets, searching. A knife. Perfect.
The Hollow's skin began to walk through the streets, eyes unblinking and roving for a target. There. A woman, desperately trying to get home before Veros got dangerous. The shell moved to intercept her. In a sudden burst of adrenalin and speed, Kasha's corpse-puppet got its arm around her neck. She struggled for a second before the knife plunged into her throat. Kasha enjoyed the resistance it gave. Why not again? The knife stabbed deeper this time. The red sticky warmth was not new to Kasha. Again and again, mutilating the woman. The shell didn't stop until her neck gave no more resistance, reduced to a ragged bloody mess, bits of tissue hanging off of her spine. Tossing the knife to the ground, Kasha's shell bit deep into her shoulder, ripping free a chunk of flesh. The Splicer's children tended to have weak teeth. It took far too much time to masticate the skin to a swallowable state. Kasha devoted the experience to memory. Verans tasted better. Or was it women? Both? Her diet? It didn't matter. Kasha saw what Apophis saw in the activity. Indulging oneself was always so satisfying.
It was addicting, having flesh to indulge. Kasha seeped out of the man and crept into the woman's mangled corpse. It was a strange feeling. Very few senses now. With the Hollow's presence, more could be done by a corpse than when a human died. They weren't undead per se - just not alive anymore. Untouched corpses were the best. They were whole. They just needed an animating spark. How much better Kasha could do with the body than the soul! They were concerned with morality and power and ambition. Those were indulgences of the mind, something Kasha planned to experience in time.
If there was time. The Hollow was not doing this for the indulgement of pleasures. That was simply something to pass time. In time, Kasha would be undone. Annihilated. How lovely would that be, to be not, to exist in a state of oblivion? Kasha had been born into a life of torture, an empty life. How superior an empty life was to a whole one. Kasha crept out of the woman, examining the scene. Such indulgences of sin. How rabid and animalistic were these creatures that their base desires would lead to this? What an empty being would do with their capacities.
In the crucible of oblivion, life would be perfected.