Hey all. Firstly i want to apologize over the overdue chapter. Unfortunately, real life issues, inlcuding catching COVID after 2 years of avouiding it, made it difficult to get back into the groove of writing. When i missed the first dead line last year, i was mentally kicking myself for that but also in the fact that the first draft i had written was not up to par so i had to make the difficult descision to rewrite the chapter. but, finally, it is here now. Plus, i have my own original universe to develop and had spent some time chronicling the histories of peoples within. But hopefully with this hurdle now over and done with, i can continue and finish this project that began 17 years ago.
Anyway, this is an overdue christmas present to you all and i plan to have the next chapter uploaded within a day of this one. i spent all of christmas Down Under getting these done.
Enjoy and i'll catch you in the next one.
_
Chapter 39- Precursor unbound
In real time, only a few moments had passed between the moment that Alaric had been subsumed into Typhon's monstrous spectral form and a sign that the battle was not over yet. Despite the hopelessness of the situation.
Typhon, having absorbed Alaric into his amorphous soul mass, loomed over the helpless humans, yautja and dwarf sprawled in front of the Karak. His menacing laughter rumbled like an encroaching storm as he believed victory was now firmly within his grasp. Once he had destroyed Alaric's mind, his resulting husk of a body was as good as his to inhabit and then nothing could stop him. Kazrik and Korrina, the only individuals who had any ability of resistance, was incapacitated on board the Karak. And those cowering in front of him were but ants ready to be crushed under his new host's boot.
Some of the Archangels had their weapons aimed at Typon, firing futilely into his masked visage in a vain attempt to fend him off. Aside from dispersing the many faces that made up his incorporeal form, kinetic rounds was having no effect on him and the faces would just reform. Plasma may have a more desirable result but there was not a plasma caster amongst them. They did not fire into the main body itself for fears of hitting Alaric inside. Varlin, defiant to the end, was shouting a whole plethora of dwarven curses in his native tongue, translated in perfected detail by the translator implants the humans donned in their ear canals.
Ja'anya, with Aegis still knocked out on her lap, could only watch as their inevitable demise loomed over them. Her brother only held her close as he prepared for the end. However, there would a light in this encroaching darkness.
A glow could be seen coming from the blackness of Typhon's astral form. It was faint at first, like seeing the searchlight of a deep sea vessel peering through the darkest depths of the ocean. But then it started to grow brighter. And as it did, Typhon began to react to it. He paused in his looming for a tense moment as he felt something stir within. Something that began to burn. Smoke, or what could pass off as smoke, began to emanate from the faces that made up his current form. Then he felt an unseen force that was tugging at him. Pulling him away from the helpless congregation before him. Or rather it was something trying to pull out from within him.
It could not be the souls of those he consumed. They were completely under his will. Nor was this the effort of the unbound witch Korrina. He could sense her presence just barely clinging to life. This was something else entirely.
For the Primarch, the memory of the first battle with Alaric back on that planet resurfaced. Back in his gargantuan form in a raging storm of aethyric power. The memory of having being blasted open from the inside after he had swallowed Alaric during his kamikaze dive. Which was excruciating to say the least. But while that mainly happened in his chest, this burning was happening in every inch on his many faced form.
The primarch's spectral form tensed at the mere thought.
It was not possible. He had every advantage. He had Alaric right where he wanted, disarmed and helpless, his mind being ripped apart as he spoke. The descendant of Gri'nyr could do nothing.
Unless...
Typhon suddenly let out a suppressed snarl of restrained pain as he felt his entire being light up as if suddenly struck by a constant stream of lightning. The light within was now steadily streaming from all the faces in his being, lighting up like spotlights looking for enemy bombers at night. The sound of distorted screaming erupted from the faces. Some were even beginning to pop in bright flashes and, with each detonation, a bright bolt of light flared out before another face reformed in it's place to blot it out.
Those watching could only do so with perplexity mixed with former terror as their demise was inexplicably averted a the last moment. A forerunner to what was about to happen as the light intensified within Typhon. The pattern of exploding faces and the number of them began to intensify in a manner one would expect watching popcorn pop in the microwave.
Suddenly, like a ship's fusion drives self-detonating in space, an almost impossibly bright shaft of light erupted from within, bursting out from the darkness that was Typhon's form, right out the top of his head. Light like it came direct from a sun going supernova. A column of super-heated plasma if you will but that was merely the closest approximation to describe it. Typhon let out an inhuman scream of pain as the light cut through his masked visage like a flame piercing the night. His form momentarily devolved into a shapeless mass as the light proved to be disrupting his cohesion. Then he collapsed altogether, exploding outwards as a torrent of screaming faces. The light became blindingly bright as everyone on the ground shielded their eyes as screaming souls arced all over. Typhon's apparition flew off like a dense swarm of agitated insects, thrumming loudly just like a swarm.
Everyone covered themselves in anticipation of being caught in this spectral detonation. Memories of watching an entire mountain range explode resurfaced in their heads and they were certain that they would be scoured from existence. But the impact never struck them. If anything, it was more like a strong gust of wind that peppered them with dust. Opening their eyes, they saw something that was not short of a miracle. Albeit a disturbing one in regards to everything they had witnessed so far.
As the mass of disparate souls streamed away, Alaric was revealed to be suspended in this shaft of light as it faded away, covered head to toe in a burning white aura tinged with a icy blue with his head hanging down. The black spectral forms of Typhon's consumed victims swirled all around him and the docks as the primarch struggled to reform his construct form from his now disjointed amorphous mass. Alaric's heavily damaged armour, covered in those strange roots that partially plugged his wounds, was glowing brightly from it's cracked and sundered surfaces like volcanic fissure in the earth. The bleeding that had ebbed his life further to death had ceased seemingly on it's own accord.
And his blood had taken on a distinctive glowing sheen. Not like the bio-fluorescent glow of yautja blood, which he undoubtedly had a minute fraction of, but as if he was actually bleeding pure liquid light. White as the stars. And to top it off, there was a faint crown of light that rippled around his head as a continuous stream of golden embers
Like a halo.
Typhon reformed a distance away from Alaric as his spectral form materialised from the disorganised swarm of faces that congregated at his location. He looked at his arms, seeing the souls merging back in him, before looking at Alaric who had by now lowered so that he was hovering just a foot from the deck floor. Already, emotions started to flood him. Emotions long buried under the guise of superiority.
When his head rose, Alaric was shown in a literal new light for all to see. His helmet's faceplate was covered in white glowing lines that slowly spread out over the rest of his armour, covering him in swirling patterns of leylines. His eyes were too glowing with light. Not that intense glowing crimson whenever he went into Rage and neither was it a shimmering red like rubies. No, his eyes were now white orbs that burned with flame. His half open mouth even had this light emanating from it.
Like he was generating this luminescence from within. Like the flames of a furnace. And indeed, sparks of light flashed around him like the embers of a forge.
Sergei, Mac and Kra'vyx recognised this sign with widened eyes. Alaric had this happen to him shortly before he had beaten the proverbial shit out of Qul'dan. Back at the former refinery complex on the ice planet. But this was a considerable step up since the last time. The rest of the squad were only confounded by this unnatural display before them. Ja'anya froze in place when she saw Alaric in this state. Something that was putting her mind in a bend as this was nothing like before as she had seen in Rage.
Typhon on the other hand realised all too well what had just happened.
"No!" Typhon exclaimed in pure horror. "Impossible!"
It was now abundantly clear that Typhon had no chance of possessing Alaric's body now. Alaric had already been claimed by another entity entirely. An entity that was beyond this plane of existence. In a place where Typhon could not go and even hope to ascend to. In a realm beyond realms.
Where the Unbound dwell.
And it was all the more reason why Typhon now had to kill Alaric in this stage of latency. Before he could react and, more importantly, learn to harness this untapped power that had manifested within him. So he called upon his own vast power to generate something that was assured to penetrate any defence, be it physical or energy. And that was a phase disruptor. While Typhon did not physically have a weapon capable of such an attack, he was just as able to conjure something just, as if not more, deadly. And conjure he did as the spiked mask head shifted back into that of a xenomorph and disgorged a black bolt of that insidious energy from his maw.
The disruptor bolt arced towards Alaric, giving off that hauntingly distorted screaming sound. Alaric only hovered in place, seemingly unconcerned as his eyes continued to burn light. Then, when it seemed like it was about to impact him in the chest, black bolt of light suddenly juddered to a halt in front of Alaric. As if it had just got caught in an invisible net as it struggled to continue on it's murderous course. Alaric tilted his head in perceived thought as he reached out a hand and grabbed this sphere of black light in front of him. The ball of energised death buzzed loudly in his fingers as the white flames burned around the appendages while he looked at it for a moment. He then looked back at Typhon and, in a show of defiance to further stoke the flames of the Primarch's anger, crushed the sphere in his hand with a loud shattering crack as the energy crumbled away like sand in the air.
This was a significant step over simply using the shield sign to take the hit.
Typhon's spectral form rumbled as he gathered more power to break through this increasingly frustrating barrier. Coiling streams of souls began to extend and arc around him, one arm forming into a massive blade lined with the tormented faces. With a thunderous roar, Typhon closed the distance and swung the blade down towards Alaric's head. Alaric's eye flashed brighter and the leylines on his body flared.
The spectral blade, with a deafening crack, clashed with a shimmering barrier that suddenly projected around Alaric, the screaming of the bound souls going higher in pitch. Typhon tried to break through this barrier but as he did, the screaming of the souls went louder into a deafening ring. Alaric tilted his head before his eyes glowed brighter and the ember halo around his head burned into a ring of flame. He reached up and touched the point of Typhon's soul blade. And the moment his finger made contact, a reaction occurred. The souls suddenly went silent for a brief moment, the sound of crystalline cracking was heard as the black mass turned white from where Alaric touched it, before the blade shattered in a bright flash at Typhon's shoulder and the souls arced through the air before arcing around his extended hand. Typhon was sent recoiling back from the sudden loss of his entire arm.
Those watching from the deck could only gawk as they saw Typhon suffer such a catastrophic hit. But that was not the only thing that was going to happen.
Holding his hand up, Alaric watched these souls that swirled around his arm into a rippling band of light. He then held out his hand towards typhon and the souls, as one melding into a bolt of shimmering diamond-esque light, soared out towards Typhon. The lines on his body expanded in width as if the armour was cracking further from the light burning within him. Adding more power to the attack.
This soul bolt, blasting out at the literal speed of light, and possibly beyond, as an instantaneous beam, impacted Typhon before he could react with a loud piercing crack of lightning and an eruption of sparks. The Primarch let out a loud cry of pain as the bolt punched right through and blasted a notable chunk out of him. Where the bolt impacted, the faces struck exploded in bright flashes, screams erupting from their distorting maws as they vanished. These souls, torn away from Typhon, then started to swirl towards Alaric before becoming a part of his aura.
Alaric held his arms out, like one would if nailed on a crucifix, and the pieces of armour that Typhon had torn from him earlier began to resonate with that same glow of power before they levitated from the ground and flew back to him. His gauntlets and phasecasters arced through the air before reintegrating back with the armour, the roots growing over those parts to secure them into place as the light filled up the cracks.
This was a sign that the battle, the third round as such, was about to resume. But, that would not be the only thing to happen. It was time for Alaric to reveal what he had building up inside him as he levitated higher so that he was now eye level to Typhon.
From his back, two rippling shafts of light emerged. Not from the phasecasters as before but coming from the armour itself where his shoulder blades were. The light seeped through the plating like water through stone. Extending almost thirty feet from his back before they filled out into a pair of glowing wings. These were not like the fiery projections from the armour as witnessed before but these were actual wings. Every glowing feather could be made out in perfect detail, glittering as if fashioned from seamless diamonds.
As with the light shining from Alaric's eyes, these wings were light rendered in physical form. Energy transitioning into matter.
The two wings glowed brighter before they split seamlessly apart into identical copies so that they were now four. Then six. And then, when fully extended, became eight. Eight wings.
Eight wings compared to Typhon's six.
Varlin's pipe dropped from his mouth at the sight, landing on his lap and rolling onto the deck with a clatter. The Archangels could not believe what their eyes were telling them as their squad mate hovering up in the air sprouted wings like an angel. Not just the namesake of the squad but like an actual biblical angel. Ja'anya and Kra'vyx were just as gobsmacked as the humans.
"What is this shit?" Karl said, struggling to comprehend what he was seeing. "Please tell me I'm not the only one seeing this."
"Why has Alaric suddenly sprouted glowing wings?". Andrzej questioned aloud.
"Why has he sprouted wings at all?!" Hicks said, trying to keep his voice down.
The thane revealed to them what had just happened to Alaric.
"Manlings." Varlin said, gripping his cane tighter with emotion rumbling his breast. "Behold the truth of his blood. The blood of a Precursor. A hallowed Custodian." he then composed himself and quickly grabbed his pipe from the ground. "Better stay down, this is going to get interesting." he warned, sticking his pipe back in his mouth.
And indeed it would get interesting as something miraculous was about to begin.
The air began to distort around Alaric like the heat haze of a desert as he rose higher into the air, held aloft by the wings burning from his back. As the leylines on his body began to burn brighter, another change was beginning to manifest. The light burning from within began to envelop him, rendering his physical form into pure energy. Typhon again tried to attack Alaric while in this supposed state of vulnerability with another disruptor shot. Again the attack was thwarted as the eight wings furled down to form a protective cocoon as the black bolt of crackling light harmlessly deflected around it as it burst upon contact like water on a rock.
Enveloped by the wings, those watching could see Alaric undergoing a transformation as his glowing silhouette began to shift and bend before the wings completely sealed him in.
Typhon, sensing what this was with evident fear, loomed closer as he resorted to having to rip Alaric apart with his spectral hands.
But, as Typhon would learn too late, he could not simply touch Alaric. The wings on Alaric's back erupted brightly with white flames that not only burned but also caused the souls making up Typhon's form to destabilise. Distorting as if trying to pull away from the Primarch. But in sheer desperation, the Primarch continued to push harder against the incandescent barrier. His hands almost touched the wings, his claws burning away like the hull of a starship failing during re-entry into a planet's atmosphere.
He was so close.
However, the Primarch was promptly thwarted in this endeavour when a thunderous boom was heard from the cocoon and Typhon was blown backwards from Alaric, his form destabilising from the force wave but was able to maintain his cohesion as he pushed harder. It was too late for Typhon's attempted early slaying of a latent Alaric. For the third party in this battle has made itself known to all.
A towering figure materialised behind the cocoon of weaved light, looming with ominous intent. Incorporeal with only the head and upper body showing in a faint haze as it projected into this plane of existence. An armoured and robed figure that was definitely humanoid, the armour of which was eerily similar to that worn by Alaric but, if it could be believed, far older. While it was faint, it was clear that this entity was ancient. More ancient then even Typhon. But the most ominous feature was the face. Or lack thereof because it was covered with a mask. A yautja mask decorated with old and arcane patterns. Almost primordial as it was not like any mask worn today or in ages past.
Ja'anya and Kra'vyx felt their hearts quicken when instinct took root in their minds. Superstition of their gods becoming prominent and of one of the most feared of the pantheon took precedence. Cetanu, the Black Warrior. The incarnation of death itself for no one could defeat him. But for the humans watching, they saw a different sight. Instead of a yautja mask, it was a more human visage. Not unlike those masks found in Antiquity, such as certain examples of roman helmets. It was almost angelic. Varlin on the other hand saw the visage of an ancestral face that frequently decorated khazdryn art.
But while everyone was looking on in wonder, Typhon saw something else entirely as he struggled to reach Alaric in his incandescent cocoon. A grave threat to his very existence. Something that made his Ossian creators look like tiny ants by comparison.
Within the Karak, in the Keeper's Chamber and oblivious to everything else going on outside, Kila and the medics were still frantically trying to resuscitate their revered stonefather laying comatose on the floor. Korrina was still slumped on her throne, rasping breaths coming from her mouth along with a continous trickle of blood. The strain of trying to contain Typhon within the inhibitor field had taken it's heavy toll on them. The glowing standing stones around the throne were ebbing irregularly. Almost in tune to the rhythm of Korrina's erratically beating heart.
But the Keeper was still in a better state then the stonefather. Kazrik was deathly still, not breathing and not reacting to stimulus as lifeless eyes started blankly ahead. Be it slaps on the face or pinching his nose. Kila was desperate at this point, having to resort to some less then conventional methods to get the priest back on his feet. The fact that his diamond circlet had turned to something akin to black obsidian by the Primarch's presence alone was disturbing enough. Cracking her knuckles with haste, she got to work.
"Breath, you old bastard!" Kila cried, vigorously thumping his chest to get his heart beating again. "Breath!"
It did not help that the stonefather, befitting his status as a warrior priest, was wearing heavy armour and clothing that effectively lessened her blows and left her fingers throbbing Nothing more then a slight nudge and an indication that she would need something with more impact to get through. Besides, she would have to remove his armour in order to use the defibrillator in her kit and that would take time they did not have. They only had minutes before brain damage set in from lack of oxygen. She found Forge next and decided that would have to do. Pushing the thought of pummelling the priest with his own weapon from her mind, she hefted up the staff for some extreme resuscitation.
That was when the diamond crest upon Kazrik's brow underwent a sudden change. The sound of crystalline cracking could be heard, stopping Kila in mid strike just inches before hitting Kazrik's chest. Then she heard Korrina's breath getting less strained and more relaxed. Then she felt her hands getting hot where she was gripping Forge tightly in her hands. Looking at the staff she saw the anvil head glowing in it's namesake manner. Then she felt the rapid influx of heat between her fingers before she dropped Forge as the staff started to glow hot completely with a haze emanating from it.
There was only one reason that the staff would act like this.
Something was happening as the darkness within Kazrik's diamond began to swiftly vanish like ink in water. The jet black replaced with pristine clarity. More then that as the diamond began to glow with otherworldly light. The standing stones were now steadily resonating with an increase of energy as Korrina's breathing returned to normal and the bleeding had ceased. This was then replaced by a loud thrumming surge, the standing stones glowing so bright that one would think they were about to explode.
Kazrik suddenly awoke with a panicked and much needed gasp of air as if waking from a horrific nightmare. And there was the fires behind his eyes as the embers within had been stoked back to life. Coughing loudly, with flecks of dried blood spraying across his white beard, he described what he had just felt.
"Hallowed Lords." he gasped, air coming back into starved lungs as his mind raced with what was happening outside the Karak. "Precursor!"
The looming masked figure in the docks vanished before the wings concealing Alaric abruptly opened with a crack of arcane thunder, the shock wave of crackling energy finally hurling Typhon away like an oily black tide as he failed this time to hold his form. More of the souls that made up his spectral form was torn from him and absorbed into the white flames of the aura burning around Alaric. The Primarch reformed once more some distance away as those watching saw what this metamorphosis had done to Alaric.
Alaric was now in a completely different light. Instead of the damaged armour in it's former slayer configuration, a completely different set of armour had taken it's place. A set of black armour. So black that it was like the void of space manifested into physical form. This armour was covered in just as black robes that glittered with the tiny specks that are stars. His head was hooded and he was wearing a yautja mask. The same mask as seen on the figure before and the halo that was but embers had solidified now a glowing crown of golden light.
This armour, for all intents and purposes to those watching, was that of an angel of Heaven. And since Typhon was for all intents and purposes a demon, it was a suitably ironic comparison.
Alaric held out his hand, enveloped in the burning aura that even now began to have embers orbit around his fingers like planets around a sun. Amongst the rubble below, half buried under the detritus of battle, Spellbreaker and the hand axes began to glow and quiver. In response to their wielder's call. The weapons then shot out from the rubble in a upheaval of gravel and Spellbreaker flew into Alaric's hand while the hand axes holstered on his thighs. And the moment the great axe made contact with it's owner's grasp, it too began to change.
The head of the axe began to produce glowing lines that burned from within the metal as the glowing runes began to shift on their own accord. The geometric lines of dwarven script were bending into a more cursive script. And the axe head itself, swiftly enveloped in the same light that Alaric had been, was beginning to animate in form similar to how the armour had changed from it's prior layouts. The shifting of metal on a molecular level. With a single flourish, the axe had transformed into a completely different form altogether.
As the light enveloping the weapon died out like water evaporating in the hot sun, Spellbreaker had changed completely. From a rune covered axe and into a glyph engraved scythe. A rendition of the original that was long lost and hidden. The one used to slay Primarchs. The weapon glowed with intent, the glyphs lining the blade lighting up with the same soul fire that burned from within Alaric.
"Mother of God." Andrzej gasped, subconsciously doing the sign of the Cross.
His fellow Archangels were quick to give their own variation of shock and awe. Varlin looked as if he was holding back tears for having witnessed an event not seen for, quite virtually, eons and resigned only to legends. The two yautja siblings were equally as moved, superstitions once gain resurfacing in in a more positive note.
"Paya's breath." Kra'vyx breathed with his enthusiasm starting to resurface. "The Black Warrior. Alaric is the Black Warrior!"
Ja'anya could only feel her heart beating hard in her chest as her brain struggled to process the information that her eyes were witnessing. That being the sight of Alaric having turned into something only mentioned in temples, ceremonies and legends of old.
I..., she struggled to comprehend from what she was seeing. Alaric is... a god?
But not just any god with as distinctive an appearance like this. But Cetanu. The yautja god of death himself. But this was nothing like the multi mawed visages that the frescoes had depicted and used to frighten young pups into obedience. Rather then a monstrous claimer of souls, this incarnation was more a refined and noble figure. If anything, Typhon was a more accurate rendition of the former depiction. A virtual devourer of souls whose body was lined with the faces of those he consumed.
Regardless on how anyone could interpret what they had just witnessed. How differing beliefs of differing cultures had various ways of describing such an entity or how one could become said entity, one thing was for certain. Alaric had now become the literal incarnation of an Angel of Death.
In light of this outcome, of which Alaric was now in an augmented state that could definitively kill him, Typhon was now starting to become increasingly desperate. He needed to regain the advantage quick and he resorted to having to utilise his consumed slaves. The advantage of numbers. Xenomorphic wraiths began to disgorge from his body in a slick oily tide, arms bearing claws or blades. Within moments, they numbered in the hundreds and would swell to the tens of thousands.
But Alaric had his own trick to counter this strength. For as the Custodian of Death, or the host thereof, he had command over the souls of the dead. And he had a more preferable pool of recruits to draw from then those of helpless consumed souls that Typhon and his kin had gorged upon in ages past. With a wave of the scythe, Alaric summoned them forth. Fragments of Alaric's aura began to peel away, lit up brightly as individual embers. Each like tiny crystal shards. First dozens and then virtually hundreds. These then arced through the air before diving into the ruined deck. A whole light storm erupted like a meteor shower burning through a planet's atmosphere.
Where each ember landed, a fissure of light burned from the surface of the rubble strewn deck. From these fissures, figures began to materialise, rising up from a kneeling position to stand in a battle ready formation. These were men and women who, despite their huge myriad of clothing from all time periods ranging from Antiquity to the modern day, were all unified in the sense that they had black spiked hair of matching styles, ruby red eyes that stood out from their ghostly white forms and all bore either two axes or one. Weapons that were the same as those wielded by Alaric.
These people were Alaric's ancestors. Slayers of previous generations. And it was here that those closest to him learned the full extent of his heritage. As the host proceeded to reveal earlier generations stretching back millennia, more and more yautja-esque features were emerging. Dreadlocks began to supplant and eventually replace hair entirely. Brows and cheekbones became more prominent and darker markings appeared on increasingly leathery skin.
As with what his Shard had shown in his dream state, Alaric's father was not amongst this host. But his grandfather certainly was. As he had been during the xenomorph infestation of earth where he sacrificed his life to achieve victory. Clad not in an army uniform but a pilot's flight suit, belonging to the airborne division of the armed forces, he stood at the fore of the ancestral host. Again the similarities between him, Alaric and the ancestors was evident. The black spiked hair and ruby red eyes. And he was hefting Spellbreak in his hands.
He fitted the definition of the phrase 'Death from Above'.
The playing field had now levelled out once more as Alaric now had his own army of the dead. Not the soulless reanimantai and wraiths that were Typhon's puppets. These spirits were a part of Alaric's bloodline and they lived up to it as the glittering host sallied forth to engage Typhon's newly but hastily made wraith horde. The opposing spectral lines clashed and despite being outnumbered heavily, literally in the billions considering Typhon's conquests millennia ago, Alaric's ancestral host was proving to be the more dangerous. Every swipe of the axes, be it with the spectral Spellbreaker or the twin axes, was dispelling the wraiths left right and centre. And for each one that was slain, the black mists changed to white and were subsumed into Alaric's aura, Alaric's power grew further.
It was as a famous spartan king once joked: They have plenty of men but no soldiers. But for Alaric as he watched, it had another meaning.
It was like the vision he had when he had fallen into the temple during his life or death struggle with the blood-crazed hish yautja. A white host of figures clashing against a tide of dark shapes. A reincarnation of the fateful battle against Typhon in millennia past.
But the bystanders watching this clash of titans were not forgotten about as Typhon directed a part of his horde towards them in an attempt to distract Alaric. Wraiths began to peel out from the horde and started to make their way towards the Archangels, yautja and dwarf. Being the most vulnerable, and with no feasible way to defend themselves, they would make perfect targets. The distance closed fast before the wraiths were on top of them to rip them apart.
But then another ember landed.
A flash of light erupted in front of them before another white figure erupted from the deck and, in one swipe of the arms, dispelled the wraiths like a wave hitting a cliff. The remnants of the former undead wraiths were then absorbed into Alaric's aura. When the flash subsided, all saw who had just shielded them from death's embrace. It was Gri'nyr himself, in his full robes and armour, wielding Spellbreaker in his hands. Typhon notably stirred at the sight of his ancient enemy standing before him once more. And Gri'nyr, flourishing Spellbreaker in hand, appeared more then ready to settle the score once more as he engaged the oncoming tide of wraiths surging towards him.
And nothing was getting past him even in death
Varlin was almost crying in joy after see his liege this close once more and Alaric's compatriots could more closely see the similarities that further confirmed his yautja heritage. It was almost like seeing Alaric if he was a yautja rather then a human.
And with the wraiths held up, Alaric engaged the Primarch for the last time. But Typhon was still far from being helpless as he hurled fire, lightning and disruptor bolts at him. When these failed, either through misses or just harmlessly flashing against Alaric's new armour, or exploding just an inch from actually hitting him, he channelled a multitude of spectral blades more powerful then what he had previously and surged over the clashing hosts towards Alaric. And Alaric soared forth to meet him head on.
Alaric flourished the scythe as the primarch towered over him like a wave of black water before lashing out with a multitude of face encrusted blades. Sparks erupted in blinding flashes as Alaric parried and deflected each in turn with the scythe at blinding speed. Sparks of blue and purple erupting from each parried strike Typhon's blades this time around did not shatter as had before but it was clear that great strain was being placed upon their bindings. Fragments would chip off each time that they made contact with the scythe but the blades would quickly reform to repair damage.
As the apparition of Razeal had said, pure hate for Alaric and his bloodline was the only thing holding Typhon together now. And hate was a strong emotion.
But Alaric, his senses heightened to a level beyond human comprehension, could feel something else within the Primarch. Something was steadily stirring within Typhon. Something that had been long buried under the weight of countless lives he had consumed, but was even now bubbling through cracks. An emotion as old as life itself and one that could often prove stronger then hatred.
Fear.
And that came to the fore when Alaric dodged several ferocious swipes, soared forth through the Primarch's defence and scored a direct hit on Typhon's face with the scythe. As the scythe tore through, Alaric could hear the whispers again as the captive souls were harvested from the primarch's right eye to lower left law. The Primarch notably recoiled from this attack as half his face ruptured while Alaric followed up with another sweeping slash. The scythe, striking Typhon in the shoulder, tore open a large rend in the Primarch's form right down the chest and Alaric heard the calls for help beckoning more clearly. With every strike upon Typhon, the consumed souls called louder as the bonds that held them to Typhon slackened. He then flew out of reach before hovering some distance from Typhon, his wings maintaining a slow but steady beat.
Alaric watched as Typhon took notably longer to reform his body as the souls looked like they were starting to reject him. Trying to tear away from him for freedom but the Primarch's will to dominate was slowly bring them back into submission.
"Do you feel it, Primarch?" Alaric's resonating voice preached, pointing the burning scythe at the Primarch's destabilising form. "Do you hear them? The souls you've consumed? You're losing your grip on them. They are rising against you."
This observation of internal insurrection stoked the flames further. Typhon reformed his spectral form as rage manifested itself. Rage against the thorn festering in his figurative side.
"They are mine!" Typhon roared as he renewed his attack.
The blades lashed out again as Alaric deflected them, soaring through the air as he looked for an opening to attack. When he did, he shot down with the wings curling behind him like a an eagle going for the kill as Typhon unleashed. Slipping through Typhon's blasts of energy and spectral blades, he lashed out with the scythe on one of Typhon's arms. The appendage was severed with a loud piercing crack as the screams of the souls making up the arm were freed. Typhon responded to this by manifesting another blade out from his body that lunged out to try and impale Alaric. This was stopped once again by another barrier that stopped the incoming attack before more blades erupted out from Typhon's mass to repeatedly strike this protective field.
This worked in keeping Alaric pinned in place as the primarch had intended. Keeping the persistent fly in place long enough to be swatted. And when he was, the attack intensified tenfold as strike after strike struck Alaric's barrier with eruptions of eldritch energy.
Sooner or later, like concentrated artillery fire pounding on a fortification, one of them would make it through. And one did. But it was not the result that the Primarch had hoped as a freshly summoned blade hit home. The barrier flashed and Typhon suddenly felt a sharp and piercing sensation erupt in his head. One of his blades had spontaneously punched out through his mouth in a parody of the xenomorph's inner jaw. And then more erupted throughout his body as his blades suddenly punched out of him with resonating cracks. Around Alaric were a multitude of flaming rings, lined with symbols and containing a black inky void that Typhon's blades had gone through.
It was a displacement field but it wasn't just one. Alaric had summoned multiple displacement fields and turned Typhons' blades against him, like the primarch had done before on the planet in deflecting the Karak's phase-lances and in the docks when fighting against Lysandros. Far more then what Typhon could muster. A further advantage as to the power of an Unbound being. But, despite the symbolic intention of giving him a taste of his own medicine, it served only to frustrate Typhon more. But perhaps this was the intention.
Typhon reformed the blades back into his body as Alaric dispelled his displacement fields. Then the Primarch, his maw glowing, unleashed torrents of black flame at him Alaric's wings curled around him and the flames arced past him, deflected by the wings. The scythe lashed out and Tyhpon evaded the swing but it served to make the flames stop as Typhon resumed the attack with his sweeping blades.
The wings of light extended as Alaric evaded these incoming swipes with unerring speed, soaring towards Typhon with the scythe raised high as the glyphs burned ever brighter. The face encrusted blades letting out their ungodly screams of torment as they arced towards him. Alaric lashed out with the scythe as he made his pass, slicing the blades from Tryphon's multitude of arms. When severed, these turned white as they fragmented before the souls forming them were subsumed into Alaric's aura which burned more intensely when fresh 'fuel' was added.
Regardless, it was a massive boost to morale when those watching saw Typhon getting shredded by Alaric and his axe-turned-scythe. His squad was loudly cheering with every attack that struck home and even Kra'vyx was joining in.
"Alaric's tearing that fucker up!" Karl shouted, pointing at the carnage before them.
"Rip him limb from limb!" Mac yelled in support.
For Varlin however, this had a deeper meaning. It finally resonated in his mind just what was happening. Seeing the souls cleft from Typhon and being absorbed by Alaric's divine form illustrated just what he was doing.
"He's freeing them." Varlin yelled. "He's freeing the consumed souls!"
It was true. With every soul that Alaric was cutting from Typhon, he was growing stronger in power. With every successive slash from the scythe, Typhon was losing more and more cohesion. The blade of the weapon cutting through and ripping the captive souls out from him. These were then absorbed into his own aura, granting him further power.
And that was causing something of utmost importance to the Primarch to become vulnerable. And Alaric caught a glimpse of it. Deep within Tpyhon's spectral form, where the gaps between the souls were cleft from the whole, was his core. His Soul Shard. A black pulsating crystal wreathed in purple flame. This was not like the more familiar form of Alaric's but rather one that looked affected by a form of cancerous growths analogous to how stalactites would form in a cave from mineral rich water seeping through the ceiling. Irregular growths where pieces of the Shard had been sheared off long ago. Evidence of how a fragment of the Primarch's soul was lost with each resurrection and that Shard had then regrown leaving a scar.
And these jagged scars ran deep. If one did not know better, it looked as if this Shard was on it's last legs. As if one more attempted resurrection could make it collapse all together. And the fact that his body reformed these spectral wounds so quickly confirmed it's importance.
With his very essence now exposed, no matter how brief, Typhon reacted out of sheer self preservation. He let out an ungodly roar as his form erupted in size. The eruption of force was powerful enough to actually knock Alaric back, sending the literal archangel arcing through the air before righting himself. The spectral hosts clashing around them were dispelled in contrasting . Typhon's enlarging form was now starting to suck the light from the docks, casting everything into unnatural darkness.
Everyone quickly huddled together for fear of losing one another in this bleak turn of events. Darkness so great that they could not see in front of their faces. As if this blackness would devour them if they lost their grip. The only light now was from Alaric's aura, standing like the lone bright star left in the void of space that was slowly starting to be overcome. Alaric's aura surged as he held the scythe high and the blade began to glow brighter as aethyric energies began to gather into the weapon. Brighter then a star as it began to hold back the darkness around him as Typhon resumed his attack.
Eruptions of sparks betrayed the hidden attacks that Typhon was sending at Alaric. Deflected in turn by the scythe as each impact briefly illuminated the Primarch. Every brief moment he was in view his position had changed, merging and reemerging from the darkness at will and at random. And each strike was happening faster then the last. To the point where it became little more then a continuous light show of energised eruptions.
This was playing in Typhon's favour as such a position forced Alaric to remain on the defensive. If he tried to attack, Typhon would be able to slip through his defence and strike him. He just needed one chance. And he seemingly got it when Alaric held back with the scythe and his barrier of protection projected around him
Alaric, keeping the attacks of this now all enveloping primarch at bay, was thinking the opposite. He was waiting for the exact moment when he could strike at Typhon. he could hear the voices of his ancestors coursing through his mind as he defended himself. Keeping the barrier around him strong as he brought the scythe close in ready position to strike. He just had to predict where Typhon would emerge from the artificial void. The one moment he would be vulnerable.
All the while he could hear the souls of the consumed all around him. Crying for release in many different tongues translated into perfect clarity. And he could also the hear the collective call of his ancestors, chanting in their ancestral tongue like before.
And then he heard the a new voice, the Progenitor himself, for the first time. Sounding clearest of all.
"Use the Aethyr to guide you." he said, laced with warm council. "Glimpse the strands of Fate, Descendant."
It was here and now that Alaric, feeling his senses elevated even higher, was introduced to the power of Prescience. Sight beyond sight. Of events yet to come and events that had long passed. In his mind, each vision happening simultaneously but in perfect detail, Alaric bore witness to events of the near future. Of ramifications of choices made in the present. Of every tiny little variable that would seem superfluous when made.
Through this sense of foresight, Alaric glimpsed several iterations of his own death. From all manner of foes that he had fought over his life. From xenomorphs to yautja hunters. Born from simple mistakes such as stepping to the left instead of right. Too many close calls for Alaric to consciously remember and revealing how close to death he had been on many occasions. But this was no time to lament over past decisions long ago.
Concentrating, he focused on the events happening before him. Narrowing down those visions to the near future. Images of the battle were seen, of consequences caused by poor judgement. Of moments when he struck in the wrong direction allowing Typhon to impale him on his blades. Each of these resulted in the odds shifting towards Typhon's favour, ensuring his victory over Alaric and the destruction of Lai'kairis. Time slowed right down as he glimpsed a vision of Typhon striking him from behind. The one moment when he is vulnerable and, above else, this was the most clear of the possible futures gleamed.
This was the moment.
"Now!" the Progenitor commanded.
And Alaric did just that as his wings furled out, casting everything into blinding light for a split second and he swung the scythe. And there in the illuminated void was a patch of black mist just slightly darker then it's surroundings.
The scythe sang through the air, trailing eldritch lightning in its wake, before it bit deep into Typhon's chest with a reverberating impact just as he emerged from the blackness. The scythe erupted with lightning arcing out from the wound, Typhon let out a distorted roar of both anger and pain as Alaric proceeded to open him up. His ruse had been thwarted, his last gamble had failed as he was hauled out of his cover like a fish from water. The darkness he created vanished as it was pulled along with him like black cloth being whisked away and everything was now back in a normal light.
Only an Unbound could have foreseen this outcome so perfectly.
The spectators below were thankful that they could see one another again.
Typhon's souls mass was now spreading over the opening and towards Alaric. The wings suddenly dove into Typhon's wound before it could seal around the scythe. Like retractors opening a rib cage during surgery, they were keeping the wound open to allow Alaric access to cut further with the scythe. White fire erupted all around Alaric as, now that he had a definitive hold, began the process of finally killing Typhon once and for all.
He would rip and tear this primarch from this plane of existence altogether. Soul by soul if he had to. And there were billions of souls to harvest in the process.
Alaric carved his way deeper into the face encrusted form of Typhon with the scythe, souls erupting out from the wound like a tide of death that caused the robes to billow out. Like a geyser from the underworld. Before him, covered under a swirling vortex of anguished faces, was Typhon's Shard.
It was now in clear sight and Alaric lunged out with his hand in that vitally scant moment that it was uprooted. The flames around his hand flared with intense light that scoured the hole further and prevented Typhon from reforming around his precious shard.
Alaric's hand clasped around it tightly, provoking both a throttled gasp from Typhon and an audible crunch from his Shard. He was now in death's clutches as the Shard started to get further affected by entropy. Black smoke began to emanate from it as Alaric began to squeeze and pull the Shard and the piercing sounds of cracking glass could be heard as new fissures and cracks began to emerge from which black light seeped out like toxic smoke.
Alaric emerged from the dark mass of souls, the wings on his back beating hard as he pulled out his quarry. The Shard, symbolising it's link to Typhon, had black writhing tendrils of eldritch arcs connecting it to primarch's soul mass. Like the veins and arteries that linked the vital organs to the body. Alaric looked up at Typhon's face, ensuring that he knew full well what was about to occur. And he could sense the impending and mortal fear building within the primarch.
The sort that came when a person sees their own beating heart in someone else's hand.
"You have cheated death for the last time." Alaric spoke, this time in the voice of the Progenitor, as the Shard was all but ripped from Typhon's form.
Holding the shard in his hand for all to see and holding back the frantically desperate primarch's writhing mass with his incandescent scythe, Alaric began to squeeze his hand around Typhon's Shard. And the effect was immediate as it was fitting. Cracks began to appear from under Alaric's fingers where they pressed. Black smoke, with purple embers, began seep out the fracturing surfaces like coals collapsing in a fire.
The fissures grew and grew until finally, with an ear splitting crystalline crunch, the Shard shattered in Alaric's fingers. This was then followed by a deafening clap of thunder as all the energy contained within was released in a fierce and violent eruption from his palms, letting go of the incandescent mass of roiling spherical energy as it hovered in the air before him. And when it was, the sounds of screams were heard. Millions of screams. The screams of the souls that had been once bound to Typhon. It was deafening for any who heard it. Even covering their ears did little to blot them out. Typhon let out one long final distorted cry of fury mixed with pain, and above all fear, as his final death commenced. He could feel his being starting to collapse without an anchor to hold him. His spectral form began to erode away like a pile of ash blowing in a gale as the souls contained within his former Shard tore at him like a swarm of ants.
Vengeance for their demise millennia ago as Alaric watched on. He did not feel any satisfaction, however. He was not going to give the primarch anything even remotely equating to pity.
Slowly, and undoubtedly in agony, Typhon disintegrated as his residual link to the physical plane severed. His limbs blew away followed by his body. His face was peeling away as soul after soul tore him apart. His body imploded as the souls gushed forth, leaving only his head. His head which slowly changed from his xenomorph form, the grinning visage and shielded carapace head collapsing like dust, revealing within something poetic. It became human, or humanoid. Skin pale as snow, lacking any hair and jet black eyes. But those eyes betrayed the primordial fear of his own demise.
A visage of his creators long since extinct by his kin's hand. The Ossians.
Alaric felt deep within him that same emotion of having seen the Ossians. He could only guess if the Primarch had once been one to begin with. Gri'nyr mentioned that one was sacrificed to seed a planet with the building blocks of life. But, as was revealed to him, the Ossians never truly died out.
Humanity were their descendants.
Typhon's cry was cut abruptly as his remaining mass suddenly glowed in black light, imploding on in itself and sucked into the roiling sphere. Then the sphere exploded in a deafening boom and blinding eruption of light in the docks, sending a shock wave reverberating throughout the docks and throughout the clan ship itself. Powerful enough to blast the hovering debris violently in all directions, crashing against wrecked ships and support pillars. Some were even cast out into space, passing through the energy fields that kept the docks from voiding out.
The Archangels, yautja siblings and dwarf thane watching found themselves pushed back violently against the Karak as detritus rained around them. But, before they could even think what had happened, this was then replaced by the sound of rushing wind. Like what would happen if someone opened a door on a moving vehicle.
The winds intensified as the howling grew louder to near deafening levels until it seemed that it was enough to blow them away. However, this pretence was dashed when it was not a gale blowing them away but was actually a vacuum beginning to suck them in. Fragments of the stone deck that had been reduced to pebbles were getting sucked up before progressively larger chunks began to get yanked from the deck from their ravaged fittings. White wisps of air began to streak along the increasing air currents.
Everyone could feel themselves starting to get dragged along the deck. This when the red light to survival suddenly lit in their minds. The one normally came whenever the hazard of a hull breach or open airlock occurred.
"Hold onto something!" Andrzej yelled as hard as he could as he felt himself starting to get pulled off the deck.
The winds intensified further and so did the force needed to suck anything not nailed down. Everyone struggled to find purchase on anything as they were dragged along, holes in the deck panelling and the exposed superstructure being the closest options in reach. Kra'vyx held tightly onto Ja'anya as he grabbed an exposed girder and dug his feet into another ensuring a strong hold. Ja'anya clutched Aegis tightly to her chest for fear of losing the comatose sheildhawk. The Archangels were scattered along in an irregular pattern, doing their best to help their comrades get a foothold while trying not to lose theirs.
Varlin was almost sucked away by the gale were it not for some quick action on behalf of Karl. Though the action involved grabbing the dwarf by his beard as he zipped by. The thane gave out a bunch of loud and undignified grunts, feeling the hairs tugging at his chin as he dangled along the tumultuous wind currents. But that brief intervention allowed him to get purchase on an anchor point with his cane. In dwarf custom, it was highly insulting to grab a dwarf by his beard, but it was overlooked in times of need, danger and as a method of discipline for younger dwarfs. But you would never see a younger dwarf doing the same to their elders.
"What the fuck's going on?!" Karl shouted, heaving the dwarf back to the deck.
"I think the hull's been breached!" Hicks cried as loud as he could to be heard.
"I said I didn't fancy getting spaced again!" Sergei yelled.
A crack of lightning filled the air, striking one of the wrecked cruisers in the docks with an eruption of sparks that blasted more of it's punished hull from it's frame. It was apparent, when clashes of thunder was heard alongside, just what had happened. Varlin, dangling precariously from his cane, followed the trail of ionised plasma left in the lightning bolt's wake and his eyes widened in sheer horror.
This wasn't a hull breach. A hull breach would have been more humane.
"Worse, manlings!" Varlin cried, pointing out to what was happening. "Far worse!"
This was an aethyric storm erupting in the docks. Just like the one back on the planet. A storm that was threatening to rip apart Lai'karis and everything inside the city. And if the sight of an entire mountain range exploding was a controlled storm, an uncontrolled storm would annihilate anything in it's path. Consuming everything like a twister. But, rather then a coalescing mass of electrical energies expanding outwards as witnessed previously, there was something else entirely in this storm's eye. Instead of pushing out, it was sucking in.
When they dared to look in the direction of the storm, they saw the horrifying truth. Something that no living being had ever witnessed and lived to tell about it. Where Typhon's soul shard had shattered, a gaping void in the form of a broken sphere approximately a foot in diameter had materialised with creeping electrified tendrils of black light that appeared to crack and warp reality around it. This was not a hull breach but something far worse.
A Singularity.
A Black Hole.
One of the most destructive forces in the universe that could swallow the stars themselves. And one had formed right in the middle of Lai'kairis. The station was at greater risk of destruction now. Being ripped apart, sucked into a place where light itself cannot escape and being compressed into nothing through sheer gravitational force. A fitting definition of the Void and which was admittedly a far better fate then being turned into a colossal hive. Alaric was nowhere to be seen when the shard was destroyed. He may have been inadvertently sucked into the black hole formed from the Primarch's death throes.
Debris from the docks such as shattered stone and buckled metal was being sucked right in while larger fragments were being dragged along the deck. The pieces of wrecked starship hull created deep gouges in the already decimated superstructure before being lifted up. As these were getting closer to the singularity, they were getting crushed and compacted further before being sucked through liked grains of sand in an hourglass.
Given time, which would not be long, Laikairis would be sucked in from the inside out as structural integrity gets increasingly compromised. For those grabbing on for dear life, the weakness of flesh and bone was becoming apparent as strength was starting to give out. For the humans most of all who could feel their fingers starting to cramp and their grips slipping.
"I can't hold on!" Hicks yelled, frantically trying to get a better grip on the deck panel he was grabbing hold of.
From the weight of him, the force of the gravitational pull and the damage it had sustained previously during the prior conflicts, the sheet of alloy was beginning to bend and buckle as metal fatigue set in. Then it began to tear entirely like a sheet of tin foil. Quick action was needed.
"Give me your hand!" Mac called, reaching out for him.
It was a risky move that would make his own grip weaker to save his squad mate. Hicks lashed out and grabbed his hand and Mac pulled just as the panel snapped in half. Feeling his own grip on his lifeline, that of a ruptured pipe, getting taut from the increase in weight, he heaved Hicks to a new position and he was able to get a new purchase. Mac then quickly had to grab another more secure handhold to avoid getting sucked away.
But it would only be a matter time before the end would claim them. The end of being crushed into atoms by a singularity. Either when the gravitational forces exceeded their tolerance or their grips giving out before hand. And it was more and more likely that it would be the latter.
"Never thought it would end like this." Andrzej shouted aloud. "Getting sucked into a black hole."
"I had bet my fate was getting my head ripped off." Karl grimly said. "Would've been quicker."
Indeed, in their line of work, they were more likely to die at the hands of xenomorphs, hunters and fanatical cultists. Never would they imagine that they would get caught in the cataclysmic death throes of a being that bordered as a god.
"It's been an honour, sir." Sarah thanked, giving her captain a brisk salute.
This was followed by the rest of the squad and the captain gave them one back. Varlin only grumbled as he held onto his anchored cane and bobbed around. Kra'vyx only looked to his sister and they both held each other as they waited for the end. There were no words to the spoken.
Another bright flash of black lightning caused everyone to avert their eyes from the chaos by reflex. Especially since multiple bolts went raking by them to strike the Karak, sending cascading arcs surging around the points of impact. This caused the Karak's phase shields to react violently to the counteracting energy, casting the entire vessel under a writhing storm of it's own.
But this was the prelude to a shift in the tides of fate.
A resonating thrum of power echoed throughout the whole docks. The winds suddenly began to die down significantly to the point where the prospect of getting sucked into the crushing vacuum of the void was averted. But it was still enough that those holding for dear life would still get blown away like leaves in the wind. When they worked the courage to look up at the chaos once more, they witnessed an act of divine intervention.
Alaric, or rather Cetanu, had returned from his temporary disappearance and was now containing the force of this storm of aethyric destruction. Wreathed in white flame and arcs of raw archaic power surging around him as lightning, his hands were held out around the void sphere of destruction. The flames of his aura were not getting sucked into the void unlike the rest of the debris flying around from the gravitational forces of the void. The scythe was revolving around him, the curved bladed head wreathed in white fire as the weapon spun. Like a flaming comet arcing around a dark planet. The energy burning from the scythe too were not being sucked into the void.
Whatever was happening, through means unknown to science and bordering among acts of the divine, Alaric was nullifying the gravitational effects a black hole. Perhaps these Precursors, whose blood ran through Alaric's veins, were gods after all. Or as closest to one that could be comprehended by a mortal mind.
A massive tide of swirling white streaks were circling around him in a vortex. Those watching could see that these swirling shapes in this spectral wind were not just wisps of air. Rather, in truth, they were ghosts. The souls of the untold billions that Typhon had consumed in his genocidal conquests of ages past. Many that were humanoid and many that were clearly not. Some which themselves were highly advanced in culture, others that had yet to progress past the stone age and many more that laid somewhere in between. And the Archangels could make out some of the colonists of the mining colony amongst the tide of souls.
Finally free from their torment of assimilation into the Primarch's domination.
And Cetanu, revered as the god of death amongst the yautja, was ushering them to the other side. All but two wisps that separated from the swirling masses and vanished within the Karak, passing through the hull like smoke. The rest were being channelled into what appeared to be a rift that had opened up above him. A rift that, as far as the minds and eyes of those watching could comprehend, shone with the light of the Heavens.
A place of light, hope and paradise. Their eternal rest that had been denied to them for so long.
Then, after but a few moments that seemed to go on forever, Alari slowly pressed his hands together, the black hole between his fingers shrinking in size until his hand's connected. The storm ceased as soon as the last soul passed on, the heavenly rift ceased shining and the black hole closed with a final clap of thunder that rumbled through the ruined docks. The black hole was now sealed and gone from this plane. Everyone dropped awkwardly to the deck in a collected tumble as the winds abruptly died out. Thankful for their hands that cramped mightily from grabbing on the tightest that they ever had been and not thankful when they landed of the rough and over abused decking panels with more force then they wanted.
"Ah, my ribs!" Sergei cursed, cradling his chest.
But his discomfort was ignored as the thought of having survived the impossible dawned upon the rest of his squad.
"Can you believe what just happened?!" Hicks said on the verge of nervous hysteria. "Survived a black hole!"
"Don't remind us." Andzrei grumbled, holding his head.
Alaric's divine form hovered for a while as silence, and thick dust, filled the air while the scythe hovered before him burning in white flame. As for Typhon, the Primarch was finally no more. His essence, his very soul, was completely destroyed. With his Shard shattered by Alaric's hand and no host body to retreat to, he was now nothing more then a memory. An echo in the vast space of eternity. Like the dust settling down in the docks.
This lack of activity was not unnoticed by the group as they looked up. Alaric was just hovering in the air as if frozen in time. The wings were still, spread out in an angelic display like a star. The scythe hovered before him, wreathed in holy flame.
Then it was time.
Like slipping through an active hologram, Alaric suddenly emerged from the angelic form of Cetanu when he simply fell out. Like the invisible arms holding him aloft suddenly let go. His armour continuing to glow despite it's damaged state. He plummeted down towards the rubble strewn deck before he abruptly stopped just inches from impact. Held in place for a moment, he was then gently laid down onto his back. The scythe fell down after him, landing next to him as it reverted back into Spellbreaker's axe form as seamlessly as it's prior transformation. The now ghostly apparition of Cetanu, wings still spread out, simply stayed in sight for a few moments as if taking a moment to ensure the safety of his mortal descendant before simply flashing out of existence in a flash. A faint outline of embers remained for a brief moment like a star constellation before it turned into raining flecks of light, fading out as they drifted down around Alaric in a gentle shower.
At long last, the battle had finally and definitively concluded. It took at least a few moments for this fact to register. And Ja'anya was the first to realise that the battle was over. And that Alaric was not moving on the floor.
"Alaric!" Ja'anaya screamed, pushing herself off of Kra'vyx and rushing towards him.
In her haste, Aegis tumbled from her hands and struck the ravaged deck roughly with a bounce. This impact was enough however to rouse him from his prolonged bout of unconsciousness. Shaking his head, the sheildhawk regained his bearings before recognising that Alaric was in a bad way and flew over to his master.
The Archangels were quick to follow Ja'anya, hauling their battered bodies up on their feet once more and forcing the pain aside. Kra'vyx stumbled after his sister as Varlin darted past him with surprising agility for a dwarf, shouting on his comms for the Karak to open the doors. Ja'anya skidded to a halt on her knees, uncaring for the feeling of her skin getting badly scuffed, as she looked at Alaric's prone body. The armour, damaged as it was, was steaming with wisps of hot vapour wafting up. Like hot steel that came out of water from the quench. The roots covering the most damaged areas looked like they were having spasms. Alaric's face, most distressingly, was pallid and he showed no signs of life with his eyes shut.
Ja'anya reached for his mask to take it off of his face but Varlin, who skidded up to her as he arrived, stopped her attempts at trying to help Alaric. Much so, since a faint hiss was heard as her fingers touched the metal. Ja'anya was so focused on helping Alaric that she did not sense that her fingertips were being scorched. At first. But she was so intent on helping her love that she was ignoring it through sheer desperation.
"No!" Varlin shouted, slapping her hands away with his cane. "Don't take the armour off. It's the only thing keeping him alive, remember."
"Alive?!" Karl exclaimed as the Archangels arrived. "That's pushing it, don't you think?! Look at him!"
Ja'anya, at that point feeling pain coming from her hands, looked down at them and saw that the palms and fingers were flushed from the heat. She was certainly going to lose a layer or two of skin from this as Kra'vyx showed by her side and fretted about her injury. Hicks looked back to the Karak for a moment before an idea popped into his head as he ran back towards the ship as the cargo doors began to open.
Aegis landed next to Alaric's still head. The hawk bobbed his head side to side as he looked at his master's comatose state. He started rapping his beak loudly on his helmet in an attempt to wake him.
"Dubois?" Andrzej questioned to the medic.
Sarah knelt down besides Alaric and, careful not to burn herself on the scalding hot plating, lowered her head to Alaric's mouth in the hopes of hearing any sign that he was alive. Her heart dropped when her ears registered a horrifying fact.
"I can't hear him breathing." she reported, looking up at the captain. "Can't do CPR in a red hot suit. We need to get him to the med bay, stat!"
"How are we going to do that without burning our hands?" Sergei questioned. "That armour is gonna burn through our gloves."
The sound of scraping metal could be heard as Hicks was dragging up something that had not been seen since the last battle began. Alaric's shield. Since Andrzej caught it earlier, it had been put aside in the Karak's hold while the battle raged outside. Kra'vyx quickly realised what Hicks had in mind as he rushed over to assist the struggling human. It was going to be used for the customary usage of the spartan phrase.
Return with your shield or upon it.
Alaric would be now carried upon his shield and, hopefully, not to his final resting place.