Everywhere there were bodies, unrecognizable, but presumably of the so-called 'Elders'. The Wise One gave one of them a cursory inspection. Blood ran down the corridors, like a drain, and the air smelled of it. The corpse he looked upon was already decaying. One of the Ancients had slashed it through the throat and left it to bleed. He realised that the windpipe was writhing in his hand and was about to throw the corpse down in disgust when something caught his attention.
He stopped as he stared into the eyes of the corpse, just stared. No irises, just the staring whiteness of those eyes that would haunt his mind forever. And the smile that had spread amongst its features.
Suddenly, the corpse grabbed his arm in a cold, vice-like grip and squeezed, crushing the armour. The Wise One raised his sword above his head and brought down again, again and again. The others ran up to see his display of brutality, and Empyrean made to stop him. The Wise One threw the corpse against the wall hard, before falling against the opposing one.
"What just happened?" Sigil said, looking at the corpse intently. The face was mutilated beyond recognition. The Wise One had his head in his hands. So what I saw before is now reality. He did not answer, but got up and started sprinting as fast as he could down the corridor.
He emerged onto stairs going up, and took them two at a time, only to find his way blocked by two Volatauiq guards. "Stand aside." the Wise One said. "We cannot allow that, Wise One. You must leave." one of the guards said, trying to be polite as possible. "What happened to the rest of your number?" the Wise One asked, trying to make them open their eyes the the fact they appeared to alone.
Before they could reply, Sigil said, "You heard him. Move it. Do not force me to do something I do not wish to do." the Wise One ignored Sigil's interjection. His head was cocked to the side, listening, as a full-out argument started. He could hear whispers and voices emanating from the central tower, the voices of the Psychics, talking out of sync.
"Move, before I move you myself." The Wise One said coldly. Both guards suddenly brandished their spears. The temperature of his eyes pierced through them. One Volatauiq Ancient complied, standing aside silently. He looked over his shoulder at the tower. His comrade stood fast, edging his spear towards them.
With a simple movement of his eyes, the Wise One slammed the Ancient hard into the wall. The Volatauiq Ancient that remained ran for his life, but the Wise One had already broken into a sprint.
Voices bounced around within the fabric of his mind, voices of a language he had never come across before. He was on one of four intricate stone bridges leading over a black void to the centremost tower. The Wise One's piercing eyes came to rest on a dazed Ancient.
"What happened." the Wise One said, as more of a statement than a question. "One of the Psychics was behind me and then I felt nothing." "Are you sure it was a Psychic?" the Wise One asked, feeling something amiss. The Ancient frowned at his question, and then said, "I would get out of here right now if I was-"
In that moment, the entire reality shook and flickered drastically, sending both of them to the floor hard. On one of the battlements, Sigil flipped over a wall, only for Empyrean to think quick and seize him. "Help!" Sigil yelled, his voice echoing strangely before falling flat. The Psychics were performing a deadly ritual, one they had no control over.
The world flickered again and blurred before the Wise One's eyes. He felt gravity die beneath him. He gazed up at the cosmos. No cloud cover, but a black endlessness full of burning suns and triangular algorithms shifting and twisting. Ley lines burning from planet to planet. Never before had he seen anything outside of this planet. He saw each of the Psychics as a celestial body, revolving around one figure, which he guessed was the leader.
They were forming their own delusion of grandeur in the reality below.
Everywhere he looked, he saw green forests, towering mountains, blue lakes, and living things: all made up of tiny triangular polyrhythms. They could not hold this creation: it was not theirs to hold, or create, whether in mind or in physical form.
Looking back up, the Wise One saw something horribly wrong and out of place. The leader was beginning to become part of the blackness behind: first the eyes, then veins, and then his entire body becoming the void. One by one, the celestial bodies of the Psychics dropped out of their place.
The green around him imploded and the Wise One clamped his hands to his all-seeing eyes, blocking the illusions out. He sprinted into the Altar Room. Opening his eyes, he looked across the dip at the cone-shaped structure in the centre, illuminated in a multidimensional light. Three Psychics stood upon it, their eyes turning to steam and burning out from the pure energy they were using. A piercing shriek filled the hot air and he was thrown hard into the wall, everything exploding out.
When his eyes opened again, he saw he was still within the dim interior of the Altar Room. Psychics were spread around, disorientated, not knowing how they had been used or what had happened. Some noted their leader was not awake yet. The Wise One's eyes rested upon a prone figure they had gathered around, and the air felt arctic cold.