Words Count: 4560
A/N: We've had the Banquet of Kings, how about the Banquet of Divinities?
Discord: /hEp2jGzKMX
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( When was I doomed?
Was it when I started to reject the world?
No… That can't be it.
It's when I began to accept their words- when I started thinking of myself as incapable of love and hence, as a matter of fact, utterly unlovable.
It started when I lost Hope.
I might've won the battle with my hate and rage,
But ultimately I lost the war.)
It is predicted that after the Age of Men ends, the Age of Wills shall be welcomed, upon which Humanity shall discard their bodies of flesh and blood to take to the Stars… Such a future was engraved into Humanity's history, and meant to happen centuries later, yet now it's fading.
Mankind's bright future is fading by the minute- Nay, second, ticking down until the Age of Wills can no longer be observed via Divination, and there doesn't seem to be anything they can do to stop its annihilation. Everyone in the Tower's Department of Astronomy is scrambling as the Stars slowly dim. "What do we do? What do we do?!" One yells, pulling out his hair. "Someone, get in contact with Lady Barthomeloi already! I will find the Wizard Marshall!"
The future they once thought so bright has become murkier than a public toilet in a third-world country. "That Vampiric Troll?" He bites back a curse at the tip of his tongue, and shout snappily. "You have a better idea?! Humanity's nearing its end already!" Hearing his words, no one dares to argue. They can't. Doesn't matter which Power, the major or minor ones, they all have their methods to divine the future.
Though on the surface, Magi care not for Mankind's survival, there're always the rare few who take it upon themselves to ensure the brilliant future they've gotten mere glimpses of will come to pass. Regardless of the person, everyone wants to be immortalized in some ways. The Immortals need entertainment; the Mortals wish their ideas- their dreams- their hopes can live on through their Descendants.
[Pure Eyes] exist for a reason, after all.
Even if they can't accomplish it in this lifetime, they hold onto the Hope…
Yet, that very Hope's withering right before their eyes.
How can they stand it?
How can they watch on while their world's crumbling apart;
When all their sacrifices are being quite literally flushed down the drain?
This has begun a decade ago, and in spite of their efforts to stop it at the source, they have been road-blocked at every corner and turn by none other than the Queen herself. Along with the combined might of the Wandering Sea; the majority of which don't wish for the Age of Wills to arrive, as it will signify the end of their reign- forever shutting the gates on their Hope for the Age of Gods' revival; and the Bluebloods, they simply can't make a significant move.
To make matters worse, by the time they did manage to locate the source, he had already grown past their ability to eliminate him… The ones who had the power were either amused by his antics, or bought off with the money and resources his growing group has gathered.
Even now, with the evidences they have piled up regarding his Threat Level, the Department of Astronomy is not confident the Bluebloods, specifically Lady Barthomeloi will stand on their side, especially after the recent Coup D'état by the Aristocrats… It matters not how convincing, she may just see this as yet another attempt to drive a wedge between the rising King. "Is- Is it really hopeless?"
One echoes the thought of many,
The longer they gaze upon the hologram of Earth, the lower their motivation plummets.
"Is Humanity really doomed–?!"
"GUYS! Look at this!" Head swerve towards the voice, finding a white-haired woman sitting at her desk- her face crimson with enthusiasm. "I think I know how we can salvage this!" Like a colony of ants, they swarm to her desk.
Usually the words from somebody as young as the Animusphere would've never been taken seriously, but they're all desperate- most have already given up and a few have long prepared to relocate their Houses to another Dimension / Timeline.
At times like this, even the tinniest of spark can bring about Miracles. "I do pray you're not messing around, Ms. Animusphere… Else the consequences will be dire."
If she's gotten their hope up for nothing, not even the girl's arguably reputable House will save her from their wrath. What does it matter anyway, when the world's rapidly approaching the Apocalypse? "I- I–" Confronted with all the scrutinizing gazes of her higher-ups, the young and impressionable young woman stammers, understandably desperate to avoid eye-contact at all costs. "Guys, you are scaring her! Just let the girl speak, by the Root!"
One elderly man whose hair used to be black mere months ago, admonishes the group, his gruff voice silencing theirs.
"Ms. Animusphere, please speak your mind." His tone immediately softens as he begins to address her. "Well… Don't Counter Guardians get deployed when Humanity's in trouble?"
And like that, their reignited Hope's snuffed out callously, "You think we haven't thought of that?" One even glares at Olga as though she has murdered his children, stolen his House Crest and taken a giant dump on it. "He is a God! A walking, living God who doesn't require a container limited by the weaknesses of the human body! By our calculations, Magnum had already rivalled a Low-Tier Servant BEFORE his Ascension–"
He slaps the desk, groaning in agony, though whether from his disappointment or just the pain, Olga doesn't know. She doesn't want to know either, instead staring at her feet out of sheer embarrassment. "… Maybe she has a point." But, amongst the angry mass, a few do come out to support her. "Alaya exists because Humanity exists. There's no way she'll let us all die, right?"
Once the fire's lit, there's no stopping it. "What if we help Alaya? The Holy Grail was designed with the Grand Servant Ritual in mind, right? If the Counter Guardians are weaker, she should deploy the Grand Servants who are said to be marginally stronger…" Sadly, their hope's once again dashed.
"She can't. Grand Servants are walking powerhouses that require a nigh infinite source of Mana to supply. Mankind's Consciousness is spread thin across the Multiverse. If she thinks this Timeline can become dominant, she'll just cut her losses." Another Magus explains. "We are on our own."
"Fuck…" A Magus falls to her knees, visibly distressed by the news. "FUCK!"
"Wait…" A lightbulb practically flashes over Olga's head as she snaps her fingers together. "It is rumored the Wizard Marshall defeated the Crimson Moon via connecting with his infinite-selves, correct?"
The slower ones give her odd looks, but the more intelligent understand immediately. "The Jeweled Sword… If Lord Zelretch uses it to fuel the Grand Ritual then–!" The roller-coaster of emotions forced upon them makes a few of the Department fall on their seats, with many even jumping on the desk, no longer concerned with their manners. "Lord Zelretch's not as powerful as he used to be, not after the battle with the Crimson Moon. I'm afraid–"
The instance those words leave his mouth, hundreds of eyes fall on the man. "JUST SHUT UP ALREADY! Or do you want us to just lean back and wait for Death to come? Is that what you want?" Sensing the tension in the air, Olga jumps to her feet.
"STOP!" She sends both men each a piercing glare. "Do we not have enough to worry about? We are currently faced with an unprecedented threat to us all, and instead of standing united, you're driving a wedge between us… Is there something you want to tell us?"
The Animusphere doesn't outright call them troublemakers, but the accusatory tone to her voice makes it perfectly clear what she is on about.
"If you have nothing to contribute–"
Olga points to the hall. "There's the door. Take a hike so we can solve this issue in peace!" The shifting underlying hostility forces both of the men to depart the room dejectedly. The event's witnessed by an Unseen Observer- or rather, Observers. There are those who laugh and jeer at the strugglers; who think of them as fools destined to perish, but the ones who gaze upon them with sympathy aren't far and few in-between either… And then, there are the few who watch the discussion apathetically.
The most eye-catching figures amongst the endless sea though, are the four silhouettes covered in various shades of golden mixed with white hues.
They are the Saints of Heavens;
The Messiahs of their respective regions;
They're the Saviors.
–And thus the Wheel of Fate begins to turn–
— False Sovereignty —
"What happened here?" The group of women look on in horror at the smoldering crater which lays where a huge part of Novigrad used to be. "What could've caused this?"
Evil Spirits, Wandering Souls and Resentful Ghosts are all recorded and written down in history. The Witchers themselves are known to hunt these vile Beings via Magic and Potions, but never before in the Globe's history has an incident of such… Magnitude and proportion taken place or been observed.
Even during the dreaded Conjunction of Spheres, where Demons and Monsters were literally falling out of the Sky through Spatial Rifts- killing; pillaging all within the vicinity, even other Magical Creatures, never has a part of the Continent been reduced to ashes; the land made utterly… Uninhabitable due to the lingering resentment. "This should not have been possible…" Yennefer mutters, flicking her fingers to open a portal, only to realize it is next to impossible.
The Formation of Ghosts and Wraiths typically require an unfathomable amount of hatred- the kind that can bind a Soul to the Material Plane. From what they- the Lodge's remnants and the White Wolf have gathered, the Spell used had obliterated the entire area in an instant- killing the citizens so fast they probably did not have the time to realize they're dead. "It must be the Spell."
Triss says, attempting to bounce ideas back and forth between the small group to establish a general theory, but even the knowledgeable Sorceresses don't know for sure if it's a Spell or a natural disaster.
"Geralt, Ciri, Yen… You guys ready?"
Merigold the Fearless asks, her narrowed eyes softening slightly as she moves towards the edge of the catastrophe. Regardless of how long it's been or how high her position in the newly-formed Republic of Magi, the fondness she possesses for the White Wolf will never go away. It's something she has made peace with, but the fire she once felt for him has dwindled- faded even.
Geralt, who's forced out of retirement due to the incident, just nods, drawing his enchanted silver-sword. "Let's hurry. The quicker we are done, the better." Fear has never been much of an issue for Geralt, or any Witcher really.
The Path's treacherous like that, Death's expected, but as a retiree dragged out of his peaceful days, the Witcher certainly has some negative thoughts. Unfortunately, this must be done. If the cause isn't deduced, no Kingdom, Queendom or Dukedom in the world can ever rest easy.
Sharing glances, the small group begins to advance into the heart of the Catastrophe, upon which they're immediately besieged by hundreds of Wraiths. "These are–" Soldiers to peasants, though their bodies have long been rendered atoms, their Spirits are even more vicious than when they were alive… Now that they're already dead, what's there to be afraid of? "The Land's–" Coupled with the persistent Curse driving their emotions to the ceiling, they can no longer recognize right from wrong,
But even if they can, they don't give a damn.
Since they're suffering, whoever dares venture here must share their hardships. That is human nature- to wish misery upon those who have it better than them. Their untimely demises have only worsened these traits.
"Magic itself is tainted… What the Hell could have caused this?" Luckily, the group has the perfect Artifact to help them figure out- a Magic Lamp gifted to the White Wolf of Rivia by the former Advisor of Temeria who's lynched and put on a sharpened pike by Radovid. Not that the woman hadn't deserved it, but it's a grisly death Geralt won't wish on anyone. Wordlessly sending the deceased Sorceress a prayer, the White Wolf retrieves the Lamp and throw it to his surrogate daughter. "Shine it where you see the particles."
The Witcheress' face immediately goes black as she loudly protests. "I- What? I want to fight too!"
"I'm giving it to you because I know you can put up a fight."
Geralt hurriedly defends his decision. "You have the Elder Blood, it will be easier for you to piece the whole picture together with the Elder Blood than us."
From a logical standpoint, there's nothing about what he says isn't wrong.
Carrying the Lamp, small as it is, can indeed prove to be quite the hindrance.
Geralt's speaking from experiences. Merely remembering all the harrowing battles he's unscrupulously thrown into while carrying the damn thing is more than enough to send the retired Witcher into a spiral of depression and irrational rage. Meanwhile, his daughter's much quicker on her feet, and along with her ability to teleport, the ashen-haired Witcheress definitely is the most qualified to undertake such heavy responsibility.
Of course, the fact he's worried also plays an incredibly important factor.
Ciri's always been a wild and reckless child, and though he's confident in her ability against any lone or even packs of common monsters, the situation at hands is simply too volatile. His thought is she will reign in her temper with that duty in mind. The Witcheress is, luckily, none-the-wiser.
With a resigned sigh, Ciri accepts the responsibility bestowed upon her. She clutches the Magic Lamp tightly in her hand, she shines the lamp's light across the desolate landscape, particles of magic swirl and dance, revealing fragments of the truth- phantoms begin to take forms one after another, mainly peasants and animals who were going about their day as per usual, until a blast atomized them instantly and devastates the land.
As the group cautiously continues their advance, each with their own thoughts in mind, trying to connect the scattered dots, more and more Wraiths start to make their presences known- howling threateningly as if to tell them to depart. Their wails and cries mingle, forming a haunting symphony of despair which send chills down everyone's spines except for the White Wolf, whose fear's been dampened by the Trials.
Still, even he feels something's off the farther they go away from civilization.
It's completely understandable for the Monsters to be afraid, but if even the Wraiths daren't approach… The Sorceresses suddenly groan, heaving as they clutch their heads in agony. Compared to the Sources who possess their own wells from which they use to fuel their Abilities and Spells, or Witchers have limited magical traits, Sorceresses are more in-tune with the World's Magic, hence more sensitive to even the slightest changes.
Pained moans soon devolve to howls of agony. "Ciri, take them out of here!"
But the Witcheress doesn't react, clearly mesmerized by… Something in the crater. Even if she did hear him, it's not like she can do anything. The world inside the Forbidden Land is separate from the world outside by an invisible, nigh impenetrable Barrier.
"Fuck…!" The White Wolf lets loose a curse, before rushing to Ciri's side, grabbing her arm and shaking her gently. "Ciri, we have to go. We can't stay here." The Witcheress' eyes snap back into focus, her gaze fixed on the swirling maelstrom within the crater. "Geralt, something... Something's calling to me. I can feel the power emanating from there."
"CIRILLA!"
Reluctantly, Ciri tears her gaze away from the sight and nods. "We can always come back later, but right now–"
A clap suddenly sounds, causing the White Wolf alongside the Lodge to immediately freeze like extremely life-like statues, followed by a sickly-sweet tone. "Empress Cirilla…" A hand pierces through Reality, unveiling it like a curtain. From which, the Merchant of Glass exits with his slick smile. "Or do you prefer the Witcheress?"
"You're–!"
"Gaunter O'Dimm."
He bows, yet in spite of his seemingly compliant attitude, his tone tells a different tale. "At your service."
— False Sovereignty —
The first place hit was Russia;
In but a day, towering cities with a total population of over 140Mil people were razed to the ground. It happened so quickly, the whole world was still whirling from the impact when it moved towards the States. It, being the UFO that had evaporated a large portion of Russian territory within an hour of arriving, the creature who looks almost human if not for the pulsating mass sprouted on the left side of its face.
News of the catastrophic destruction in Russia spread like wildfire across the globe.
Fear gripped the hearts of people as they anxiously awaited news of the Monster. Governments scrambled to prepare defenses, while scientists and military strategists tried their darnest to find a weakness, but what weakness could there be for a creature who could fly faster than their fastest jets; shoot destructive rays that rival even the dreaded Tsar Bomb with a flick of his fingers with God knew how many other abilities at his disposal?
With each passing day, tensions soared as uncertainty hung heavy in the air.
The clock ticked ominously, counting down to the moment when the UFO would make its way to the United States, yet contrary to everyone's expectations, it seemed rather… Leisure, as if wanting to enjoy the fruit of its labor… All while the world held its breath, fearing a repeat of the devastation witnessed in Russia.
At the moment, it has arrived to the border of Finland, its very presence choking the Sky with its ominous Aura.
In Washington, an emergency meeting is currently being held with top leaders from around the world. These men and women were all high-n'-mighty once upon a time, now they have been so stressed even their heads have turned white. The room buzzes with a nervous energy as they exchange concerns and debate hotly the best course of action.
One thing's clear though, everyone's afraid for their lives. "Why's it ignoring the surrounding countries?!"
Amongst these men and women, General Rachel Carter stands as one of the biggest advocacies to the call for peace. Having led a few military operations with varying degrees of success, the woman has earned somewhat of a reputation for herself, though whether hers is good or not is still up for debate. "Perhaps it wants to cripple the world's superpowers first and enslave the rest?"
The theory sounds plausible, but there are too many holes in it, plus the creature has yet to make a demand of Humanity.
How they wish it had one, at least then the Governments will be able to understand its motives and strategize ahead, but the creature seems interested in little besides sight-seeing and destruction. "I say we send a negotiator… Learn what it wants first, maybe this can be solved peacefully? Russia has been a huge pain in our behind for a long time now. It's not like it's any loss…" Her voice gets lower and lower as spiteful glares land on her.
"Are you fucking insane? Does that–" A General, who is pushing to use Nuclear Bomb on the creature, points towards the screen in which a picture of it is displayed. "Look like it's here for peace negotiation? We have to act fast before it comes to our shores!"
"The 'Golden Time' has passed! It's already in Finland."
Another counters, a deep frown on his face. "We have no justifications–"
The General interjects in protest, his face purple with rage. "Justifications?! Should we wait for it to enter our territory, then bomb our own cities?! Is that what you are suggesting? We are facing an Apocalypse-Level threat, and you want us to wait?!!" The scale's tipping in his favor. While few dare voice their opinions, the general consensus is to bombard the Entity first, and ask questions later. "What about the Department of Anomalies? Have they made an announcement yet?"
In the end, regardless of their positions, they are merely ordinary people who have risen through the Ranks through means fair and foul. This is far beyond their paychecks.
Their last line of defense is still the mysterious Department created near the beginning of the States' conception. For the longest time, these people have dealt with the things that go bump in the night, leaving them to handle politics with relatively few inputs every once in a while.
"It's the whole point of their Department- to… ' Handle'–" To contain Artifacts from Ages long lost and Beasts often featured in Legends and Myths. As for the ones they cannot secure, it is the Department's duty to put down. "All issues concerning Anomalies, right?"
In fact, nearly half of the yearly National Defense Budget's allocated to them precisely for this reason. "What're they doing?" George W. Bush sighs. "Those guys are scrambling as well." He coughs, the lines on his forehead deepening as he gestures to his Secretary. "According to the report we received from the Department, they are discussing the matters with foreign Powers."
"Foreign Powers?"
The group of politicians and military officers echo. "What foreign Powers?"
Before the President or his Secretary can speak, a voice reverberates in the room. "The Mage Association." From the dark corner, a thin and slender man climbs out. Instead of hiding in the shadows, it's more appropriate to say he was inside the darkness. "Formed since King Solomon's Reign, it was them who have enforced the rules and upheld the… Delicate Balance Magnum's trying to disrupt."
"WHO'RE YOU?!" The room erupts in a combination of shock and suspicion. All eyes turn to the mysterious man who has suddenly appeared, loudly questioning his presence and intentions, palming the firearms strapped to their waists.
The President, ever the pragmatist, raises his hand, to calm the chaos.
"Wait," She says, her voice cutting through the room. "Let's hear what he has to say. I assume you're from the DoA?"
The man, undeterred by the hostile atmosphere, steps forward into the light, revealing a piercing gaze and weathered features. "You're correct–"
The Magus confirms, shoving a lower-ranking officer off his seat with a push.
"I will not bother with introduction. My identity does not matter anyway, but I come bearing a message from the Department."
"And that message is?"
One General echoes the thought in the minds of many.
"Stall him… We're handling things on our end, but we need time to prepare."
"Stall?"
General Harris repeats, the anger in his voice evident to all.
"STALL?! How do we you suggest we do that?"
The Magus' glare instantly silences them. "Think of a way! We've been protecting you useless bunch for centuries! National Defense is one of the biggest, most profitable industry in the country, throw soldiers at it like you are the Iraq and Afghanistan Wars!" Harris jumps to his feet like a cat whose tail has been stepped on, already seeing the benefits he's enjoying taken away. "You dare–?!" The words have barely left his lips when the Magus vanishes, appearing next to him a second later.
"Who the FUCK do you think you're screaming at?"
Bloodshot eyes meet Harris' panicking gaze as the Magus hums, hand raised high. "Useless bastard."
With a loud squelch, the high and mighty General who stands above and commands thousands is given a one-way trip to see God. Seeing the situation, the rest reach for their weapons but are quickly restrained by strands of Ether. "You've enjoyed prosperity and riches all along, it is time you give something back… Bomb half the world if you must. It isn't just one or two countries he's after, it's Humanity."
With just two words, shivers run down their spines. "Si- Sir… Is- is that Entity the Devil? Has Judgement Day come?" The Magus says nothing as he moves towards the shadows again, but before departing, he decides to give them a brief explanation, if only to help unite the group. "It is a Beast of Calamity, and it was once a human."
Once he's gone, the politicians and officers all slump within their seats, "How can that be?"
Until someone hastily bursts into the meeting room. "Dammit! What did I say about–"
"Sirs! You have to see this!" The young lady looks pale as she gestures to the smartphone in her hands- one of the Government-issued devices currently kept from the public. " – We're currently in Helsinki, and it is bad out here! It's- It's like everyone has gone mad! I just saw a mother stomp on her child's head out of rage because the infant cried! Everywhere this- this Entity goes, madness follows! It's like people can't control themselves anymore!"
A scream suddenly sounds behind the reporter as her crews whirl back, the camera zooming in on a man who is biting the throat of another like a rabid dog. He's even cussing up a storm while doing so, a happy smile plastered on his lips. What's odder is the state the bitten man's in: Instead of screaming in agony as someone in his position ought to do, he giggles. " – What the fuck…?" Trainings completely forgotten, the female reporter slowly backs away, palming her mouth in shock.
" Why's this happening? Oh, God… Oh, God!"
And just a little down the street, a homeless woman's giving disemboweling somebody- her knife repeatedly finding itself in the person's face and torso until they are unrecognizable. " God, help us…" That's when something drops in front of the crews: A… Vaguely humanoid shape oozing with pus. Half of its face's hidden under a layer of pinkish; pulsating; cancerous mass, the other half shows an ethereal beauty no ordinary human can ever hope to compare.
A twisted smile on its lips, Beast VIII questions- revealing bloody fangs in place of teeth.
" YoU CaLLeD?" One of the basics a cameraman must learn is to stay silent at all time, but with the circumstance as it is, the man behind the camera can no longer keep it together. " – Christine, RUN!"
" ObSessIon?"
The Beast mocks, as though amused by his antics.
" SHe'S neVEr goNNa fUck yOu, YoU dO ReaLize tHaT? ShE LovEs NoNE eXCept hErSELf."
Again and again, relentlessly, the Beast taunts while holding the woman in place. " – Ja- Jake!"
Its eyes bore into the reporter- Christine as he touches her forehead, releasing a wave of darkness that slithers into her mouth, nostrils and eye-sockets. A symbol's burnt into her- an upside-down; crooked Cross while she fights and flails helplessly. By the time she hits the ground, Christine's no longer there, instead in her place a spiteful, hate-filled Demoness who screeches and screams and raves about how successful; how beautiful; how much… Better she is than everybody else.
" – CHRISTINE!"
The cameraman howls, trying to chase the manic woman only to see her get slammed into by a car going at 80Km/H.
" – CHRISTINEE!!!"