Chapter 33
Descent Into Strangeness
X Jihad X
"I don't know what I was expecting." Whatever it was, it certainly couldn't have been this.
Sin had his dreadsteed walking slowly. The demonic warhorse kept its eyes forward, immune to the sights around it. In fact, it was probably right at home considering the Twisting Nether. The unnatural nightmare of that realm better suited the opening sight of Sholazar Basin.
Tentacles thrashed amongst the trees like living vines. Thick, organic shafts broke from the mountainside, penetrating the jungle basin like members of a hellish rape. In the same vein, actual living vines countered them. Green, flowered coils trussed up the flexing tentacles and strangled them, a game of constriction like mating snakes. The lasers were the first to break that illusion.
From the tips of Ghat'Nothos' tentacles fired beams of compressed light, burning smoldering lines into the wide valley. Ancient trees groaned, cut clean through, and the bushy tops fell in a spray of splinters. Contrastingly, massive, spiky spores spun rapidly in their aerial arcs towards the tentacles, and they exploded on contact like bloody cannonballs. Sometimes they'd combust, others would unleash red waves of dust, and the poisonous gases ate away the organic fleshstuff.
Above them, through the Sholazar trees, Sin saw a stormy sky belching black meteors into the basin. Titanic magic intercepted them, consuming or blasting apart the rocky missiles, leaving black ash and glittering arcane sprinkling down. Everywhere Sin could see along the rocky walls that protected Sholazar Basin, the black, organic growth of Skinblight threatened to trickle in. The valley was surrounded, strangled. Besieged by an old god.
Only then did Sin see past the raging magicks, to the countless dark specks in the air or on the ridges. The Skinless were here, raging against the bonds that held them away. The Pillars each glowed with power, protecting their precious charge. Sin guessed there were hundreds of thousands of them wearing at the barrier.
Emotions evoked in Sin unwittingly. It was life and anti-life. Hope against despair. The powerful, all-consuming will to thrive and grow remained present in the lush and musky forest, proud in its defiance to the hungry, cold call of oblivion around it. Sin could feel this was a tired war, old as the first spark of life in the primordial universe. Since the first conception of life, it had struggled against its inevitable death. It was a tired war, but to Freya, mistress of all growing things, it was as natural as breathing.
She just had to breathe a bit harder, was all.
By the Light and Shadow, Sin hadn't expected this. Perhaps something more like in Storm Peaks: armies clashing with armies. This was the gnaw of the void on the fabric of reality. The intercourse of gods, breaking the world beneath them to birth a new era. The phallic thorns along the cliff walls and the female-shaped goddess took on a new symbolism with the last branch of thought.
To distract himself, Sin began the summoning process of both Lynona and Sekara. The succubus was brought by the traditional means: mentally held symbols of power, the inescapable call of her Name, a body conjured in this foreign universe to temporarily house her spirit. Sekara, though tied to the demonic plane, was brought by portal. Sin had not the resources to know her summoning ritual, and he needed the true body of the qiraji queen plus another for his eventual experiments upon the qiraji.
The bonds formed in his head, one and then the other, teasing his attention with their thoughts and emotions. Warmth and affection for him, surprise and wonder for the scenery around them, steady resolve and loyalty after. Sin breathed their thoughts in like incense and exhaled them slowly. It soothed him, easing his quasi-mortal mind into the maddened world.
True to his arrogance, Sin had imitated Freya's play at omniscience by scrying her at the basin and proudly sending message by water-reflection within a muddy puddle. If she had realized his intent or was impressed, Freya shrouded it in patient indulgence. With a word, she had activated the summoning circle, and Sin had come. If only he had been more observant in his scry.
Presently, the life goddess walked at his side – or rather he walked by her knees. In a neutral tone, she commented, "You are missing your warden."
"Ambiguous," Sin remarked softly, mostly to himself. His powerful steed was acting patient, giving him the freedom to reflect on this besieged region, and now his loosened attention stumbled back to Narelle Blackmoon. Louder, he replied, "She has duties elsewhere."
In Narelle's stead was a second qiraji, an unknown named Jeurabis. She was a speechless pink, unremarkable from the others, yet the All-Mind had presented her for the task of experimentation. Suspecting that Jeurabis would either die or be horribly mutated soon, Sin refrained from learning more than her name.
The thoughtful quiet pressed down on the party once more. During it, Lynona followed Sin's reflections from within, eventually interjecting jealously, Stop thinking about her, Master. She left, and that's that. We need to look forward... or at least upward. I mean, look! I can eat up this whole fertility goddess business when she struts around in a short skirt with nothing under it.
The succubus was staring up at Freya with a wide smirk, and her remark managed to raise a muted laugh from Sin. He knew firsthand the boldness of the goddess' dress. Be careful, beloved. Not even your skills could satisfy a being of her... magnitude.
I'm admiring, deflected Lynona. Lusty mischief shined in her thoughts. But I bet that the two of us could take her avatar. That was vrykul, right?
I appreciate the distraction, but if it is just as well, let's not take that turn, hm?
Alright, but beloved, you need to stop focusing on Narelle. She has a cute butt, I'll admit, but you've parted for less than an hour now. I don't even get that much attention from you.
Sin kept a straight face as they spoke, pretending to focus on the raging conflict. He was aware of Sekara listening to him, but she was respectfully quiet, waiting to be directly called upon. She chose to leave, beloved. You did that once, and that had my attention too, even broken as I was then. I just... His thoughts swam with sensations, none of them discernible. They were reined in immediately. When you left, I knew what I must fix to have you back. With Narelle, I haven't the faintest idea.
I revel in your narcissism, lover, but I doubt this is your problem for you to fix. Narelle is a woman – albeit an old one, but nevertheless she needs time alone to sort herself out and make her own decisions. By the time we get back, I'm sure she'll have taken a few lovers, found them all unsatisfactory, and she'll come crawling back after realizing you are the greatest man in this world. And I'll be there to kick her cute butt to the dirt, because this little harem is full.
Sin missed the last thought, distracted by the idea of Narelle taking lovers. Realizing this, Lynona stopped everyone by rounding on him suddenly, her eyes wide. Aloud, she exclaimed, "Oh my Lord! You have absolutely no, none, nil, jet, khat, count my fingers: zero right to be jealous of Narelle bedding some meat. You of all men! I can't even- I don't even have words for how utterly- utterly-! Damn it!"
"Is everything alright?" questioned Freya, unknowing of their mental conversation.
Sin turned away, cheeks burning and keeping quiet. Lynona was right. His natural possessiveness was not an admirable trait, and for all her banter about other women, Lynona was as jealous a lover as Sin himself. Inviting Narelle for that one night or allowing Sekara, those were colossal sacrifices for the succubus, the kind he couldn't make for her sake. It was unfair.
Yet he remembered the slender elf sitting on his lap, considering their inevitable future together – this woman he had shared his entire life with by terms of a contract – and his stomach turned at the thought of her taking another man to her bed. Someone like King Malthon, whom she had chosen over him in the most trying moment of Sin's life. His cheeks burned, and it wasn't all shame that heated them.
Do the job, Sin, he told himself, beginning to pull the shadows around his mind. Azeroth herself teetered towards oblivion, and here was a man considering matters as trivial as bedmates.
"Men!" hissed Lynona, folding her arms tightly before herself. She started forward alone, showing her winged back to them. Sekara and Jeurabis were first to follow.
To Freya, Sin admitted, "Trivial matters. How much farther until we meet Lady Har'koa?" His dreadsteed began to move again.
"She awaits you at the eastern fringe," the goddess answered, keeping pace. "She is eager to fight alongside you outside the basin."
"As am I." They walked in renewed silence.
Shortly into the quiet, a loud, haughty thought filled Sin's mind: You don't love her. With time and experience, Sin and Lynona learned a new way of conversing over the bond, drawing their souls closer to be heard clearer and stronger. Still showing her indifferent back to him, Lynona was doing it now.
I know, he replied simply.
I checked your memories. You don't even have feelings for her, not like that. She's barely more than a friend to you, Lynona continued, her mind flashing with irritation and heat. You're a child moping because he lost his favorite toy. That's all it is.
I know.
Lynona paused, reading his thoughts and making no secret of it. Eventually she told him, I'm angry with you.
I know.
Yeah, and here's something else you know: I'm not that kind of succubus, Sin. I don't share.
Sin refrained from answering in words. It would only sound mocking.
A few moments later, Lynona verbalized a sigh, strictly for effect. I'm angry with you, Master.
A smile flitted past his lips. I know, beloved. I'm sorry.
I know you are. Bastard. Now let's forget her and put our heads back in this war. A god can't be caught depressed over a lost priestess, right? Even if she is your warden, protector, friend, confident, and almost-lover.
Your words, not mine.
And last I checked, she wanted a piece of my ass, not yours. Now ready yourself, Master. Har'koa is here, just past this bend. She's alone. This time no flirting!
Sin nearly flushed at the reminder. The last time Lynona had met the loa goddess, they had been in Zul'Drak. The trolls sought to claim the powers of their patron gods, one by one capturing them and ritually siphoning their divinity into the high priests. Sin had rescued Har'koa from her own chopping block just barely in time, and though they fought together tooth, nail, and claw against the empire, they were too late to save the other loa gods. Har'koa alone survived them – more, she embodied them, for in the final act of defiance, her fallen brother and sister gods bestowed all of their powers upon her to succeed in the last battle.
And at the end of the conflict, with a holy debt held in Sin's name, Har'koa had offered her savior and ally a chance to take his place as her mate – one of several for the broodmother goddess of the snow leopards. Sin had respectfully and very carefully declined.
Now that debt was paid in the loa song raging in his head, his heart, and frustratingly his loins, but if the Mojo of the Gods was any indication of Har'koa's libido, Sin was certain he wouldn't have long survived as the goddess' sole consort. Even if she took the form of a troll or an elf, his mortal body just couldn't handle that.
"Ahem," he coughed, struggling to clear those thoughts before greeting the goddess in question. Har'koa was seated before him, all white with glowing spots and colossal like mammoths. "Lady Har'koa, it is a pleasure." Excellent word choice.
"The pleasure is yet to come, Sin de Rath," she exchanged with a natural purr. Another excellent choice. "Or is it Lord de'Rath now? You come before me nearly as my equal. In some ways, perhaps my better."
"You are too kind, great goddess. I haven't forgotten that a portion of my power was granted by you."
Irritation filled his head. What did I just say? Lynona demanded.
Feline lips split to reveal long slabs of ivory fangs. Har'koa's grin was a frightful thing, unaffected by the words she spoke supernaturally. "Yes, there is power in that, isn't there? My sister has told me what my gift has begotten you."
A reference to the elven silk house that Sekara had pulled together for Freya's visit yesterday, Sin was sure. Before he even had a chance to stumble out some excuse, Lynona stepped between them with her hands up, flapping her bat-like wings for attention. "And that's enough of that. Lo, Har'koa. Thank you for that wonderful gift for my master, but let's focus on the killing to be done, shall we?"
Har'koa chuckled at the interruption. "Greetings to you too, little succubus."
"So what is our plan of attack?" Sin asked, following Lynona's lead. "Will we be using the Etymidian once again?"
"Unfortunately not. The Etymidian is already preoccupied," Freya answered. There was a sound like frantic leafs rustling through a powerful gust as the green giantess turned and pointed a finger at the sky. Sin followed her gesture to the sight of those black meteors crashing downward, halted by sudden blasts of titanic magic. The Etymidian at work, he realized.
Har'koa spoke up from behind him: "Don't worry. You'll be mounting me instead. Trust me, I'm a better ride than the Guardian." Another toothy grin was waiting on her face when he glanced back.
Lord of Darkness and Flame, she's doing it on purpose! Lynona fumed.
"I remember you weren't too fond of that last time," Sin remarked, ignoring Lynona.
"You remember correctly. However, this situation has changed. You need my speed and maneuverability, and I need your firepower. If I must degrade myself in acting like an elvish riding cat for someone, there is no other man as worthy as you. You have earned my respect, Sin."
"You honor me, great goddess."
"It is nothing undeserved. I presume you are ready now? It has been a long two days of border fighting while waiting for you, and I am eager to sink my teeth directly into their throats."
"I am."
Har'koa showed her teeth in smile, then bade, "Sister?"
Colossal Freya beckoned with her living staff. Magic pooled and brewed around the blooming head, seen by the twisting coils and bursts of emerald light. When she thumped the butt onto the soil, the power resonated outwards into a tangible thrum and sprang forth new life in saplings and flora. The wave of power touched each of their cores, similar to Sin's trick with Shed'lahk, and then vines and earthy growth erupted out of the ground around Har'koa.
The organic tendrils wrapped around the snow leopard goddess, weaving shapes around her middle, and in only a few seconds, it was done. Left behind was a well-corded saddle complete with a handhold and stirrups. Sin raised an eyebrow at the addition, while Har'koa stretched and prowled a few steps. Her tail whipped behind her in discontent.
"A bondage I don't accept lightly, Sin de Rath," Har'koa growled. "Now climb on. It is time to hunt."
Sin's dreadsteed was banished, letting him touch the spongy ground with his boots, and then he approached the goddess. She lowered herself near him, giving him room to climb into position, and once he was seated, she rose to her feet. Sin's stomach lurched at the graceful yet precarious motion. A cat did not have the same sturdiness of a good horse, he realized. He almost wished for reins to hold onto.
"Comfortable up there?" Har'koa asked in the same contemptuous tone.
"Not very, no," Sin admitted, grasping the handle awkwardly. He draped Shed'lahk over his lap but still needed one hand over it.
"Good," she purred lowly. She shook her head, and Sin felt dangerously close to falling off.
Controlling his suddenly racing heart, Sin commanded, "Sekara, Jeurabis, return to the silithid and wait for me there. Lynona..."
His succubus folded her arms tersely. "I know."
"This won't take long. I will see you soon."
"Will you at least...?"
Sin answered her trailed question by turning his attention inward. He withdrew a soulshard, carefully formed the spell in his head, and touched psychically her soul and his own. With everything set, Sin said the words of the Demon Soul, and suddenly Lynona's near proximity became an overlap, merging their souls closer together than any act of physical intimacy beforehand. When Sin inhaled, he felt it in two chests, and when he closed his fist, he felt it in two hands. Smokey demon lust swirled around the pulse of the loa song, braiding in playful knots together, and his thoughts felt an odd mix of feminine and masculine.
Finally, Sin reached for his power, and there it all was, now with a crepuscular aura of sayaadi magic around it. All of Lynona's power, grown strong alongside his, was available for Sin's use, including her natural mastery for all things shadow. Even the Seduction was available for his use, should Sin find the need.
Relief and satisfaction burned through two hearts. In the faintest whisper, yet louder than a scream in his ear, Lynona breathed, Thank you. Keep alive, beloved.
Worry not, my love, Sin said back, also failing to diminish its powerful resonance.
Amusement tickled past their thoughts, preluding Lynona's quip, Now you be careful with her. Trust me, Master, you don't want sloppy, messy Loque'nahak seconds. Anytime she starts tempting you, just think about how she regularly takes his big, barbed, cat di-
Lynona!
The succubus laughed, and a mortified Sin couldn't help feeling it shake through him. Once her wicked amusement began to sober, Lynona waited a beat, then finally said, I love you, Sin de Rath.
Sin inhaled and exhaled, clearing any imagery. I love you too, troublemaker.
"Are you ready, Sin?" Har'koa asked, craning her neck to glance at him. She had noticed his internal dialogue, though fortunately she hadn't heard it.
"Yes." Using Lynona's affinity for shadow magicks, Sin conjured stygian tendrils to lash his feet to the stirrups and form a better handhold. The black loop he produced was more forgiving than the knotty handle, and he clung tightly to it as the powerful muscles bunched and shifted under him.
I'm still angry with you, Lynona told him as Har'Koa lunged onto the cliff wall, bounding from ledge to crag effortlessly.
Once Sin felt some semblance of confidence that the massive goddess wasn't going to slip or fall in her ascent, he managed to reply directly, I know, beloved. I will try to make it up to you.
Well, you can start by coming back to me alive. Asshole.
Sin nearly dropped Shed'lahk as they jumped a gap twenty yards horizontal and fifteen vertical. His heart was hammering rapidly in both of their chests. You would have to address that to Har'koa. Light and Shadow...!
"Hmm, looks like it's all vertical from here. Hang on, Sin," the goddess announced, and she took to the rocky cliff by just her claws, tearing paw over paw in the sheer climb. Sin hung by just the shadow bonds around his feet and the loop around the handhold, fighting the instinct to look backwards – straight down.
Seeing himself just barely dangling on the white cat's back from Lynona's perspective did not help. There was a long ways to go.
XxX
There was no doubt that Sholazar Basin had Ghat'Nothos' full attention. How evenly it was partitioned against the battle with Elune, Sin could only guess. There was presence here, physical and metaphysical. The Whispers were heavy in his thoughts, rising to his conscious like bubbles in a cauldron – and that pot was set to a frothy boil. A hundred voices demanded a hundred things, eliciting reactionary paranoia, anxiety, mistrust, hesitation. Sin accepted it like it was a marvel, detached from the insistent gnawing.
The dagger at his hip burned, seeming to vibrate and breathe in the presence of the body it was cast from. The pain was an ember against Shed'lahk's blazing sun, easily ignored and forgotten in the storming sea around him.
At one point, Sin decided he wanted a painting that captured this moment. Himself, in purple robes tattered and wind-swept, with his desert Warden cloak flagging wildly behind him, mounted upon the powerfully roaring goddess Har'koa, a white leopard the size of common houses. Shed'lahk would be raised over his head, a pitch staff emitting an array of potent magic against a black tide of monstrosities too horrific to focus on. The mural would show them as silhouettes, capturing claw, fang, and glowing green eyes, faded against the stormy black sky and ashen clouds.
It would be an astounding piece, light defying all-consuming dark. Har'koa's white fur would be perhaps a little dominating, so he'd see it muted to a bright grey, and his skin would need a bronzing to pop out. The purple of his robes would clash with the themes too. Perhaps he could stylized the green eyes of the Skinless for a proper contrast. Demonic black and green. Majestic purple and white.
The actual fight that inspired these thoughts was less tableau. Wide sweeps of Sin's anathema disintegrated Skinless by the hundreds, but like a child's arms pushing against the ocean, the black tide always flooded back into the pockets, screaming for blood in a roar like whitewash. If the effort wasn't so intensive, Sin would have sighed. The monotonous repetition had become boring an hour in.
Champions of the Sightless stepped up in challenge, and they dissolved no differently from the others. That was the point of an anathema.
The excitement came from Ghat'Nothos' direct involvements. Tentacles absent of its magic would rip from beneath them or nearby, and Har'koa would combat it with loa magic or her own maw, dripping black blood from her lips and immune to the acidic effects. Flaming meteors fell through the clouds like hail, but the goddess was quick on her feet, dodging with feline grace. Sometimes the ground would rupture and burst, throwing slabs of stone and snow in every direction while leaving treacherous burrows of Skinblight behind. Har'koa avoided those too, always swifter than the rival god.
Eventually, the enemy switched tactics, beginning to throw spells that were no longer built upon Ghat'Nothos' magic. Sin couldn't unravel them effortlessly, but Har'koa's disdain proved superior. A simple roar could demolish every weave in the air simultaneously. Sin was impressed.
With Ghat'Nothos' attention on them, the old god also began to act directly against Sin's magic. Although the anathema ripped through its magic like fire through brush, it soon stifled and suffocated under insurmountable currents. Too much wood and too little oxygen, Sin compared it too. His attention was forced deeper than the material world, feeling out for the dark hand of the enemy and combating it with Shed'lahk's malevolence.
Sin had every advantage against the enemy except that it was more experienced and supported by the entirety of the ley lines. Trivial things, surely.
"Sin!" Har'koa roared out. The sound waves caused a dozen Skinless to explode into black gore. "Are you alright?"
His attention was split in so many directions he almost didn't realize he could respond. He was within Lynona, fighting mortal cultists in the basin. He was watching Sekara in the silithid hive. He was on Har'koa, throwing around anathema like a kid with an endless bucket. He was wrestling Shed'lahk to the pulse of the loa song, fire and nature at perfect standstill. He was beneath the earth, navigating an astral world of only magic. Oily browns permeated through everything like a sickness, condensing and consolidating against him, and fiery oranges and fel greens ripped apart every pocket that began to bulge like pustulant boils.
"I'm fine! Better than fine!" And he was. Sin felt alive! Since the first grapple with Ghat'Nothos' magic, Sin had discovered a perspective of magic entirely foreign to him, and he was learning to swim its current like he was born to it.
Already Sin was destroying old god tentacles before they could form, stymieing the destructive currents that would rip up the ground. He could trace the burrows in the ley lines before the Skinless were bursting out from them, and he had them enter the fray through a mist of anathema, leaving only corpse fragments. Ghat'Nothos acted through this realm, and Sin was fighting him in it. Har'koa's powerful steps rippled vibrant waves of red, dispelling Ghat magic almost passively, and when she joined his fight, it was a celestial engagement of colors that they together were winning.
Yet it was not sustainable. Sin's inexperience reared higher and higher as the battle stretched. Either Ghat'Nothos cast more attention into that specific fight or decided to adapt around Sin's rampant destruction, for new weaves, new angles, new styles of attack began to manifest, all too quickly. Sin began to lean harder into Har'koa's assistance, but the goddess was focused on her footing and fighting, more intensive than Sin's blasts of anathema. The black hand of the old god was omnipresent, and it pressed ever tighter around them.
Then Sin's stamina began to fail. His mana was a mighty ocean built between natural gifts, the enchantments of his equipment, trinkets he'd prepared for the task, the blessings of the goddesses, and all the power Lynona was sharing – and then amplified a dozenfold by the medium of Shed'lahk, imbued further still by its violent touch. Despite this, he was still a mostly-mortal man, fighting an elder god with a truly endless reservoir.
You have done well, Shadowson, but you may leave this fight to me, Sin was told. The voice was feminine, and that was all he knew of it. A mighty, celestial, feminine sound, and he knew not how he heard it.
All at once, Sin found himself expelled from the arcanosphere he fought within like a door had shut in his face – but not before he felt the lines of white light thrust through the old god weaves like arrows, breaking apart the magic with brilliant shards, and then he was back on Har'koa's back, blinking at the stormy world and conflict.
A sweep of Shed'lahk reprimanded a gang of Sightless creeping onto their backs, glowing with fiery magicks. He anchored himself back in reality, feeling the untamed Har'koa sprinting under him. His mind remained totally merged with Lynona, and Sekara was sending reassuring emotions to relax his attention from her.
What was...? he started to ask himself. Celestial woman? White light? Unbidden, he looked upward, into the bulbous leviathans that drifted above them. There, to the north-west, was a break in the cloudbed – a small hole, just enough to shine the entirety of the full white moon. Lady Elune? It couldn't have been, yet...
"The siege, Sin!" Har'koa reminded in another air-trembling roar. "Break the siege!"
Right. The job. Do the job. Sin felt the strain in erasing another legion of Skinless, and he barely raised a mana shield against the thorny bolts thrown back at him. What was the point? He had come to a terrible realization while battling Ghat's magic. No matter how many Skinless they slew here, even if it was all of them, they would resolve nothing.
This wasn't like C'Thun or Yogg'Saron. There was no pit to raid and body to kill. Ghat'Nothos was in the land, in the sky; like a cancer, it had invaded and defiled everything with its broad touch. This is what the titans had battled, long ago. The same parasitic entity so fused with the planet that uprooting it was impossible without destroying the planet itself. How? How could they battle this? Breaking this siege or a thousand others, it made no difference.
"Sin!" Har'koa called again, fiercer.
He raised his staff to shatter the dozen meteors falling upon them, shaking himself back to attention. Humbling was the realization of how young and foolish he was that day in the basin, challenging the goddesses with all his mortal audacity. Give him an army, he had demanded. Help him fight the body in Ulduar, challenged Sin de Rath the Fool. They, the goddesses, had tried explaining it to him, but Sin was an arrogant bastard. This was how they fought, directly against Ghat's magic within the arcanosphere. He knew that if he were back in the basin now, if he could look back at the war of magic, he'd see a deeper conflict than lasers and tentacles and spore-bombs.
The goddesses knew that the only way to win was for the titans to return. Even they, so much wiser than young Sin, admitted this was an impossible fight. Who was he to defy their judgment? Honor thy elders. Had he not been taught that truism? Focus on the present and do as the goddesses have bade. Har'koa and Freya believed that good would come from breaking the siege, so Sin would aid in breaking it. Elune – Light and Shadow, was that Elune? – told him to leave the immaterial, supernatural conflict to her able hands, and Sin would respect that too.
Sin had been humbled. However, he was not yet broken.
Lynona, I need more power, he cried to the soul of his soul.
He could see the corpses around her, already being consumed by the voracious plant-life of the basin. She coiled her whip around her wrist and turned back towards the waiting Freya. Take it, she encouraged. Take it all, Master. Then take hers.
A deep breath was taken, felt through both lungs. The sensation was especially obvious now as he let his attention return to their odd blend. A demonic pact was formed between them, links between souls, and Sin siphoned away her mana in a single swoop. Their Lynona-half cried out at the sensation, falling to the mossy floor, but she wasn't so lost as to lose her conjured body.
Golden veins of love connected them, pushing towards one mind and then the other, and Sin finally let the Demon Soul fade from them. Immediately, Lynona's bond within his head returned to a single knot at the back, weary and hurting, but Sin was already retrieving a soulshard and focusing on the other. Sekara's attention tightened on him as she realized his plan, eagerly awaiting the moment that they would unite in that way.
"Sin?" Har'koa asked, feeling the changes in her charge. For the moment, she fought alone, and though she was anything but unable, her fury manifested in targeted strikes as opposed to his wide devastation.
The words of the Demon Soul were spoken again. The soul of Sekara cocooned around Sin's, spool after spool of golden light, and then fangs of her presence penetrated through Sin's mismatched essence. He hissed out at the raw, spiritual pain. From those fangs, a venom was injected, poisoning his soul. He realized it was her, that el'Sekarna was invading his being, and rather than the gentle intercourse between he and Lynona, it was a forceful exchange that battled for dominance.
Just as Sin was about to mount an offensive for control, the turmoil ended. Sekara was fully inside him, with him, and every bit of her queer self demanded total subservience to Sin's wishes. The strength of the All-Mind supported her qiraji mind, but the heart of the All-Mind was servitude. It shined through Sekara's buzzing thoughts, flashing that word over and over like a mantra. Servant. Servant. Servant. She had the power to break Sin from within, yet the notion never once passed her mind.
Servant.
This wasn't the Demon Soul, Sin suspected. A hundred minds awaited his thoughts like jars to be filled by his will. Sekara was the pitcher in which he would pour from. The imagery sent a terrible shudder through him. What madman's game was this? His thoughts left his head as though from a straw, squirting into Sekara's, into Gessah's, into Nzeeka's, into-
Sin's right hand flexed, and he felt a hundred scythes ready to burst out from his forearm. He called for his mana, and it was weakened by conflict and use. The qiraji could offer him none. He looked for strength, and he found it in a hundred breasts. A hundred hearts beat with his.
What – the hell – is this? he demanded. Each part formed simultaneously in three heads. Fear – true fear – fluttered his heart, and it was like a thousand flies taking to the air at once. Not even the sudden absence of the Whispers could alleviate his horror.
A pulse of change came as a blessing. Sekara's presence changed from a catalyzing thought-node to a second head, closer to what Lynona had felt. His thoughts bounced between them, like two lungs that breathed into each other, and he was reminded of her desire to combine them like hemispheres of a brain. If this was her goal, he wanted none of it. Ever. It was madness. Incomprehensible madness!
Sin, Sekara cooed, from her to him to her to- Sekara will aid you. Think together. Act together. Be the master Sin has become.
I don't like this, he complained. She acted as a buffer, confining the thought to his head. It was a small relief. I can't do this. What have you done?
Open Sin's eyes and fight, Master. The Sisters fight with you.
Sin opened his eyes – he hadn't even known they were closed – and the first sensation was nearly a hundred different views overlapping each other. There was Sekara in the hive, Jeurabis near her, and all of them with Narelle at the stronghold. There was a twitch, like a flip of a switch, and then he only saw from his own eyes, staring into a sea of dark and black atop the white fur of Har'koa. The goddess was mid-leap, and she did not move.
Sin blinked – blinked twice, and still Har'koa was frozen, perpetually descending upon the silent, scream-faced hordes of Skinless. Time had stopped in his perception, captured as a still image. No, not completely stopped, he realized. Slowed to a glacial crawl. It became especially obvious as his surprise prompted him to squeeze his rope handle. He could feel the impulse as it sputtered down his arm, under his elbow, into his wrist, where sluggish tendons pulled and strained. His fingers finally curled tighter in response, so late that he had already feared paralysis a dozen times over.
Is this your doing? Sin struggled to ask. Sekara?
Think together, the queen soothed. See together. Perceive together. Respond together. We are the All-Mind. You are the All-Mind.
Trapped in the background of Sin's mind was Lynona's fear, captured at the height of panic, felt in the tightness of her chest and numbing anxiety. Sin felt it, explored her emotion from several angles, and his efforts to alleviate it fell on a mute audience. Or perhaps her mind hadn't the time to interpret his response. Regardless, Sin felt that eternally etched fear as a part of himself, inescapable as his current suspension.
This is the face of madness. I cannot cope with this. Help me, Sekara.
Fight, Master. Fight!
Despite himself, Sin mustered the will to try. He pulled from his mana, wove his thoughts to the careful imagery needed to cast his spell, and he bade his lips to work the arcane sounds. The spell was focused and composed before the first syllable passed his lips, leaving Sin impatiently waiting for real-time to meet his demands. The focus on his spell was not mentally taxing, but he promptly found it boring, mundane – a squandering of his ability, to sustain that image rather than spur his thoughts elsewhere.
As he had those thoughts, he realized the perfect partitioning of his thoughts, thinking along two strains. Sekara's pleasure resounded with the insight. She guided that part of his attention to the qiraji he was already thinking through- Thinking through.
No! Sin swiftly refocused himself. This was the Demon Soul with Sekara – Sekara, who controlled the All-Mind, whose mind was the All-Mind. This, all of this, was Sekara. The ninety-four qiraji bodies were extensions of Sekara – and now extensions of himself. There was logic here. It was rational. Light and Shadow, it had to be rational.
His human body was just starting the third syllable of eight. So slow!
Could this be used? Sin focused himself – rather, he focused everyone but himself. The body called Sin still held the spell in its head, its mind used up. Just as he was also Lynona in their Demon Soul, he was now also Sekara and the All-Mind. At the fierce encouraging of Sekara, Sin tried to experiment in this state. Whatever the reason for this slow perception of time, whether his thoughts were accelerated or fragmented into simultaneous bits through the many minds, it did not matter.
It was a change in state, and Sin could adapt to it. That is what the qiraji did to his mind; they taught him how to adapt like them.
Fourth syllable. Painstakingly pathetic. Sin took the spell in his head and shattered it, building up the image from scratch again. Rather than the wide sweep of anathema, he repurposed it down onto targets, onto individuals. Sekara could not offer Sin the shadow mastery and magical gains that Lynona had through the Demon Soul; the qiraji had no mana to spare for him. However, under the terrifying surface of this merge was the realization that Sekara had given Sin time and mental focus.
It was the greatest gift a warlock could hope for.
Precision replaced raw force. The strain on his magic became a fraction of itself. Verbal magic, the crutch that protected mages from unintentional backlash, became a handicap, and so with several minds to refine exactly what he willed, Sin plunged into simultaneously woven spells of instinct magic.
Skinless attacks were blocked, unwoven, or diverted from the air. Their bodies were purged by needling pricks, thousands at a time. Ghat'Nothos' magic stirred, and Sin finally matched its pace, unraveling and counter-weaving in stalwart defiance.
The moment came where Sin could find no more Skinless in their vicinity. Har'koa was already sprinting onward at a snail's crawl, and Sin released the Demon Soul. At once he felt uncomfortable in one lonesome body, alone in his limited, single-minded thoughts. Sin shuddered in the wake of the spell, nauseous at the sudden rush of time around him. It was dizzying and overwhelming.
Recovering atop the powerful, sleek-bodied goddess, and rocking with each of her graceful lunges, Sin realized that what had felt like hours of intense warfare had been a mere handful of seconds in real-time. Fifteen, perhaps twenty. It was frightening, yet against everything else he had just experienced, Sin could only acknowledge it from a state of emotional numbness.
"I don't know what that was, Sin, but can you keep doing it?" Har'koa asked finally as they moved to the next mob of the enemy.
One hand against his pounding yet otherwise devoid head, Sin admitted, "I'm- I'm not sure. The usual limit for the Demon Soul is the clash of control." He took a steadying breath. His tongue felt strange in his mouth. "With Lynona, with Sekara, they do not fight me, but that was... Light, I don't know. This is so far beyond me. I will try, though. With Elune as my witness, I will certainly try."
"Witness indeed, Moon Goddess!" Har'koa growled. They approached the next clump of Skinless, crushed against the basin's barrier. The goddess made an elated sound, running faster. "I thought to attack in stages, but if you can maintain that state of carnage for another hour, I can finish a full loop around the basin. The siege will be in shambles."
Was Sin good for fighting another hour? Despite all his preparations, his body was already wearied by throwing around so much magic. The mental fatigue of Sekara's Demon Soul was just the sugary topping to it. However, Sin also hadn't expected to break the siege so soon, and the gain in time might be worth the inevitable recovery.
Holding the rope tight, Sin found, uncorked, and drank his only mana potion. The alchemic elixir swept through his tired body like a strong alcohol, replenishing his great reserves. The potent drink wasn't tailored for one of Sin's magnitude, but it cut the edge from his exhaustion, leaving him fighting fit once more.
The enemy drew closer. Already the nearest were readying some array of nasties for them – a bit of chaos, the acidic globes of Ghat'Nothosian magic, some organic projections. Sin began to muster himself for the bastard Demon Soul again, making a mental note that he would need more soulshards soon.
"Let's do this, Har'koa!"
XxX
The grassy meadow was an empyrean bed beneath Sin's back, at the end of it all. Lae'Parnona laid curled at his side, his equal in exhaustion, while the imp Quztal was banished finally back to the Gardens, taking with him Sin's thanks. The dual summoning had been less trouble than Sin predicted. That could be attributed to Lynona, who had suggested it originally and promised to behave. While the succubus had no love for "the twerp," she was first to admit that no being in the Nether had mana regeneration comparable to imps, so Sin used him as a little battery to siphon mana from intermittently through the final hour of combat.
Now the fighting was over. The final touch had been clearing Ghat'Nothos' presence in the sky, spewing black meteors directly into the basin. Although direct weather manipulation was still a field outside of Sin's mastery, Freya had joined him in the effort, guiding his magic through the necessary changes that ripped the ashen cover from the sky and let dusky twilight bloom over Sholazar. Elune remained present in the stygian veil, bright and full, and with her the reminder of that brief encounter within the arcanosphere.
All too soon, the serene aftermath was disturbed. "I have finished the preparations, Sin. Once you are rested, we can begin immediately."
Patient Freya stood over them now. Sin would have found it fortunate that the settling night obscured any obscenities were it not for his supernaturally gifted nightvision. How long did we get? he questioned over the bond. Five minutes? Did we even get five minutes?
The sultry demon chuckled softly. Go on, Master. This is the main reason we came here.
He sighed. "Right. If you are ready, then I am as well."
Standing up was its own trial. Though Sin gave the call to move, none of his muscle groups rallied to it, and his head began the ever descending swirl of sickness at even the slightest change in position. Somehow, he managed. Or Lynona had assisted him – he forgot which.
On his feet and supported by Shed'lahk, Sin found Har'koa sitting near the treeline. The loa goddess was comfortable in the shadows, watching only him with her unblinking, feline gaze. After his eyes touched on her, the great cat said, "You are something else, you know that, Sin?"
"I can't say I don't try. Are you able to help with the ritual?"
"We have our analogues, but for what you want, it would not do to mix schools of magic," she explained. Sin accepted her answer and let Freya lead him away.
Complaints aside, matters were progressing smoothly according Sin's plans. Lynona's task, besides defending Freya, had been to explain Sin's intention of delving druidic magics and incurring the slain gods of Elune's host. The succubus charged the nature goddess with preparing the rituals necessary to call upon and communicate with the host, starting with Cenarius himself. Symbols of power, icons, and even the spiritual links were already formed and waiting for Sin as they reached the sanctioned grounds.
"Before we begin, I find I must ask: Sin, do you have plans to rescue the Elune from her doomed fight against Ghat'Nothos?" Freya peered down at him with that curious stare of hers, her expression too fey and alien to suggest her thoughts.
Sin collapsed before the ritual bowl, then worked on righting himself to a neutral sitting position. His eyes swept over the icons as he replied, "There is a plan, but it is not my own. Narelle Blackmoon has become mischievous. We are not yet near that point, but there is hope."
"Hmph." The sound was between a closed-lip laugh and a harrumph, and Freya said no more on it. She moved directly before Sin and followed him in sitting cross-legged. It was a sight to watch her massive self bend down to meet the earth, folding legs thicker than Sholazar trees and kicking her sandals outward. Her staff was left horizontal across her lap, same as Shed'lahk. Divine fortune allowed her shins to block Sin's view up her skirt. "Are you truly ready? I can tell you are still weak."
"Well, I won't oppose if you use a bit of your own power to help," Sin suggested. "But we have a window that is closing by the minute. The time is now, ready or not."
"Very well. Lay out your idols and connect with me."
Sin obeyed. Small figurines were retrieved from his pack and placed before him, dozens of them, and then he pursued the latter. Communing with a god was similar yet fantastically different from the demonic bond that Sin knew by trade. They connected at the soul, overlapping spirits – rather, his was submerged within hers – and there was a stirring vaguely like that of the Demon Soul. However, they did not merge together, becoming one being in two bodies, warring in their emotions, personality, and power. It was a witnessing – the reveal of every detail of the being called Freya at her most vulnerable, while also showing himself. The goddess was proud in her naked spirit, at ease in their commune. Sin, in contrast, resisted the panicky urge to flail like a disturbed newborn.
Satisfied, Freya began the ritual. An ancient magic so far from Sin's experience was revealed to him, taken in unmarked stages. His senses equated it to the ocean. Massive clouds of amorphous nature magic washed over them, then it pulled away, into the area around their ritual grounds, before the next stage sent its viridian waves crashing back over them. The magic was musky and heavy, primal as the force it took its name from – full of growth, hope, and other foreign traits. The fel magics Sin knew were so violent, forceful and corruptive, touching his soul like decay, depression, and destruction. This reminded him of the wonders of arcane magic, the joy he once held in weaving beautiful webs of sparkling indigo.
In the backseat of this spell, Sin marveled at the sensations around him. He studied it, offering his power when it was called, leaving bare his soul when needed, and he watched. In time, he felt the green cloud building around them. The waves still fell upon them, receding again, but each time built a thicker veil of the magic around them. The world became greener, seen through an enchanted tint, and the waves crashed over them once more.
Sin realized they were digging. Freya's pulsating magic was burrowing them downward, not into the earth but into a separate reality. The Emerald Dream. Deeper and deeper, through the material Azeroth and into her natural blueprint. There was a sensation that grounded them in this other world, and Sin knew they were fully Dreaming, but then the waves came once more, and Freya dug deeper.
Light and Shadow, how far did Freya intend for them to go? Could the afterlife be reached this way? A world in between Dream and Death? When an eternal lost its body, did its soul go to this place beneath the Dream?
The magic pounded into them, beat after beat. Sin felt a subtle change along its outer rims. Freya was drawing a shell around them, a bubble that contained only them. Puffs of green dissipated into whatever lay outside the walls of their hole. She was calling, he suspected. Had they gone deep enough? His thoughts drowned under thick, musky nature magic.
Time lost meaning in this state. Sin's thoughts became hazy, intoxicated by the lungfuls of magic he breathed like incense. He fought for focus, wondering if it was right to keep or lose himself, but steady Freya, patient Freya, maintained all of her attention on the spell. She had no answer for him. Magic deluged over them. It withdrew. It came again. Like the breaths of the goddess given form.
No matter Sin's struggle, when Cenarius came, it was not missed. There was a vague presence, a silhouette through the green, and the final wave came in a pillar of green that nearly crushed Sin in his seat. At its end, he opened his- eyes? attention? mind? to the area around them, and the god was there, proud in his spirit as the woman across from Sin.
His voice was spoken, but Sin doubted it was physical. The sound rang loud as church bells, brassy and powerful, though his ears did not shrink at the intensity of Cenarius' words. "Why have you called me, daughter of the titans?"
Seated Freya still towered over the god, and she answered evenly, "There is one who requires your tutelage, Eluneson. The living world darkens once more."
"Ghat'Nothos, yes?" Cenarius asked, sounding more amused than disturbed. He seemed to finally notice that Freya was not alone, blinking suddenly at the small warlock. "Who is this?"
"This is Sin de Rath," Sin answered, "with many titles besides, but that is not important. It is I who has called for you, Great Spirit. I have no favor or talent in druidism, but I have ideas involving it that could use your expert hand."
XxX
Collapsed in a pool of his own blood, Sin glared at the now living Cenarius. "You're a real bastard, you know that?"
The god, standing in a powerful image on his own four legs, released a strong chuckle. "It was your choice to draw mana from your blood, Shadowson."
The trickling light of Rejuvenation was too small a relief after so many Life Taps. "You knew I was casting dry. Light and Shadow, you had me brute force a distance spell. Six ti-!" A fit of coughing overtook Sin, spewing more dead blood onto the hungering grass. Near him were dozens of small figurines, each of them now vibrating with powerful magicks eager to unleash.
"A humbling experience, I hope," drawled the stagman. "Now, our work together is finished. Rest well and recoup your great strength, warlock, for tomorrow will prove a more trying day than this."
Spitting weakly, Sin groaned, "Looking forward to it."
AN: I cut out a scene this chapter - the actual interactions between Sin and Cenarius, mainly with Sin trying to convinve he god to tutor him. I didn't like the flow of it and meant to change it, but I spent so long in gridlock with the scene that I tried just cutting it out entirely, and it doesn't seem much was lost. Maybe someday I'll get back to putting it in, but right now I'm more focused on getting this finished.
