Zenith [Closed] [Chapter XX]

[Veran]

The whole of Utopia began to bend, as though the very atmosphere boiled due to the forbidden force of the powers clashing within. The air was ignited with a detonation that reverberated across the realm and beyond into the Downward Spiral. The sight was blinding, though even its celestial beauty eventually receded back to darkness.

And there stood Veran, holding the burned remains of Ghost of Legion by the throat.

[Tajna Rasha]

All strength had left the phantom. No amount of power was sufficient to stop the Arashi, and Tajna Rasha’s petty and shattered form now stood as example of that fact. Limbs already falling into dust, the merciless grasp of the First Aspect crushed the carcass effortlessly. It fell, using what little remained to speak into Amoura’s mind.

‘‘Don’t stop, whatever happens – whatever you do – do not stop!’’

[Silver Eyes]

Why? Why now of all times? The Arashi may be among the most powerful of beings to take on corporeal form--or something close to it--but The Ghost couldn't possibly be overwhelmed that easily. Did the First Aspect find his weakness?

The burning corpse answered her question.

‘‘Don’t stop, whatever happens – whatever you do – do not stop!’'

Amoura gritted her teeth, spun around and resumed her pursuit. Tajna was desperately trying to help her, and the effort won't be in vain. The Night Angel could feel the light's warmth as she drew close--it was like feeling the sun's rays after a long winter.

It was nearing her reach...

[Veran]

The earth had fractured beneath their feet like bone. A great chasm laid beneath the Arashi whom stood as though ground remained instead of the pit which led into the fiery bowels of the earth. Miraculously Amoura had outrun the cataclysm though below her was no longer the pristine land of Utopia, but the barren wasteland of her nightmares; ashen and barren where each fissure was scorched, radiating a deep red beneath the cracks. The screams returned, echoing from the deep. She could hear the ripple of blood rising from the bowels of that hell and as the First Aspect walked past the great maws that now scarred the land, she saw them bleed. A crimson ocean chased her. A sea where she had drowned many times. A sea where the dead resided, and called her – again and again – every night since that day she had first laid gaze upon the white mask of the Arashi.

[Silver Eyes]

Have you ever been so afraid, you thought you would go mad? You watch those horror films, you think you'd never be that foolish, overly paid actor rushing right into death's arms, and you'd always the logical one. But have you really felt fear? Does your precious logic remain deeply imbedded in your will to survive? No, all you think about is getting out alive. It doesn't matter how. Get out. Live. Get out. Live.

That fear was ravaging Amoura's mind. It was driving her to push herself beyond her normal limits. The world was falling into chaos all around her, the screaming wouldn't stop, blood oozed up--the deja vus were having a field day.

‘‘Listen to the shadows; hear each individual heart-beat like your own.’’

Ranka? Now she was losing it. Her teacher's words were suddenly breaking through the fear, reminding her of what had been taught that fateful night after she had to accept what she was.

‘‘But to become a hunter of the night, to become what evil fears, you must first shed your fear of it.’’

He warned her time and time again to never give into her fear. To become what evil fears. But this was an evil that feared no one. Could she even become something that ruthless?

‘No matter what, you must walk through that path, without fear, or you will become the prey, and you lose yourself permanently.’'

Walk the path without fear, or you will become the prey.

The prey. The Night Angel had been the Arashi's prey for decades. Could she break from that cycle?

Amoura peeled back her lips, gritted her teeth, shot a glare over her shoulder at the oncoming Arashi, looked ahead, and kept going. No, she thought, I am not the prey. I never will be the prey again.

‘‘And you must shed the fear you have about yourself.’’

"I already have."

The Night Angel's pupils dilated. Portals opened up behind her, sending out armies of undead under her command in an attempt to slow Veran. It may not do good, but those screams had a source, and they were also swarming that. It was an all out battle between the damned and those Amoura had devoured after all these years--it was a good enough distraction for her.

The light had become blinding. There was an open door ahead. The Night Angel screeched to a halt, turned around, flung out her hands, and the doors slammed shut. Veran will catch up soon, but the moment she turned around to see the shroud, she was greeted with an unsettling ambiance:

A room completely made of human bone.



Everything was crafted from skeletal remains. The chandeliers, the chairs, the coat of arms--everything.

And right in the center of it all was a bright cloth.

Amoura took a step forward, but those moments of foolish observation had cost her dearly. The First Aspect burst through the door and wrapped the Night Angel in darkness. In defiance, she screamed.

Then blood splattered all over the bones...

[Veran]

The hand of the First Aspect was like that of a titan crushing the flesh of the Night Angel beneath its grasp. The mere presence of the Arashi was enough for men to perish.

‘‘These things I have written to you concerning those who try to deceive you.’’

Again she had to suffer that voice. One last time he had to rape her mind with words. His words. Words that had damned her from the moment she had first paid heed to them. She could feel now what her sister had experienced back in Crystal City – the pain was nothing as pedestal as physical pain, no, but Veran’s touch was like a rake upon the soul greater than any atrocity this universe could offer. The light faded slowly, though the beast would not have her gaze upon it. With fingers digging into her shoulders like talons, the army of undead that rose from the red lake spun her on her heels to force her away from retribution, and to lay eyes one last time into the black abyss that resided under that cursed mask. And she could feel his eyes on him like a thousand needles piercing through her heart.

‘‘But the anointing which you have received from Him abides in you, and you do not need that anyone teach you; but as the same anointing teaches you concerning all things, and is true, and is not a lie, and just as it has taught you, you will abide in Him.”

The black hand rose to caress her face one final time… and then it rose towards his own. Slowly she could feel the tremor within her flesh. A quake that threatened to break her in ways even she couldn’t comprehend. With the slow approach of that glove towards the mask, it was as though the screams of the damned had grown mute, and there remained that singular, deafening note that drove her madder by the instant. She could feel the taste of blood creeping up her throat and her vision blur as tears of red shed from her eyes. He took hold of his mask, and let it fall down.

She opened her mouth but no sound came. She could not move. She could not breathe. Her face contorted and shattered beyond recognition at the sight she beheld. Skin rippled and tore and burned before flesh gave way to bones unleashed from shackles of body along with the undead mass gathered. They perished, and the temple crumbled to chalk, piece by piece until nothing remained but the cold silence of death.

And there was no pain, nor thoughts. Only the dream-like trance of the horror she had witnessed. She floated adrift, farther away from her death. She clutched at what little semblance of lucidity remained…

Then nothing.

[Silver Eyes]

No! No, this can't be the end! She was meant to get the Shroud, to put an end to this madness! Was Tajna wrong? Was this the final moment? When she began to feel a rippling in her flesh, as if though it sought to rip itself from her body, she realized that this was really it. This was how it was going to go down. Amoura may have the power to destroy planets, but she wasn't created by the original Creator. And despite her Devil Trigger activating, it simply wasn't enough to escape a horror that has long plagued her: the face of her tormentor.

Her light grew brighter, she threw her head back, and unleashed a scream. The temple shook, portions of the ceiling began to crack and fall to the ground around what could have saved everyone. There was no denying it, no escaping it.

She was dying.

She failed. All these years, everything she fought for was all for naught. The prophecy wouldn't come true, her friends would never see her again. The Aspects will continue to ravage the land in an attempt to regain balance. And now there was no one to stop them.

Tears streamed from her eyes. Why did it have to come to this? If she had been stronger, if she had done this sooner, maybe...maybe she could have been with the ones she loved. Now she couldn't have a moment to say goodbye to them. To tell them how much they meant to her.

Those tears soon became torrents of blood. Her body shook violently. Then, she was ripped asunder. Her light flashed, then dimmed. All that remained of the Night Angel were bloody lumps of flesh that gradually became grey ash.

And a crystal attached to braided leather clinked to the bloodied floor, rolled around, and became still. It was all that remained of the Night Angel, and it was emitting a soft glow before that too dimmed.

A faint whisper was heard, possibly too faint for one to hear, but maybe it was somehow heard within this forsaken place: "I'm sorry..."

[Tajna Rasha]

Death had certain elation to it, almost like a sense of vertigo. The scene seemed to happen in reverse at a snail’s paste, like her mind was trying to piece back together the events of her end. The feeling was gripping, like a splinter in her lungs. She saw bones snap back into place, and flesh smolder to healthy form though the nearer she grew to that climax where Veran had uncovered his face, the more distant the vision became. It was as though she was split from her body – the haunting temple grew back over her head. And the light. They always said there would be a light…

They were the eyes of Tajna Rasha.

[Silver Eyes]

Hearing your own dying scream had to be the most haunting experience one would ever have. That is, if they could somehow exist within different timelines to witness such an atrocity.

Now, Amoura was that "lucky" person.

Instead of staring into the First Aspect's true eyes, she found herself looking at the Ghost's. In that moment, she felt her own blood splatter onto her, heard the crystal drop to the floor along with her fleshy remains--it was unsettling.

Coming back from being so close to total annihilation was exhausting. The Night Angel had some clarification as to what was going on around her, but her body just didn't want to respond. A feeble attempt to stand failed miserably. Tajna would have to carry her if they were going to get far.

"So that's...what the power of the Ghost feels like." Amoura whispered, "It's enough to drive one mad."

[Tajna Rasha]

‘‘Irrelevant.’’

The phantom’s reply was duly void of sympathy at the remark. Even after barely being saved from total dissolution, still the woman had the presence of mind for stray thoughts. The talons of the wraith wrapped themselves around the tattered remains of her collar to have her set on feet quickly. Even then both could hear the resonating madness outside the walls of the morbid ossuary – the relentless chase between the Arashi and its herald reenacting itself as it had before.

‘‘We have pulled your essence from the timeline; we are moments before you stumble through these halls, and your death at the hands of the First Aspect.’’ It explained even as the echoes of Veran’s onslaught grew ever nearer. ‘‘This is where it must end.’’

[Silver Eyes]

Amoura's head felt light when the Ghost hauled her to her feet. The move itself was too quick for her near-death-experienced self to process in its state so her vision blackened, and she firmly rested a hand on Tajna's shoulder to gain a steady footing. Everything was spinning, she was practically deaf, and for a moment, just one moment, she forgot what it was she was supposed to do.

‘‘This is where it must end.’’

The Night Angel squinted her eyes, currently struggling through the dull ache in her head, but she nodded in agreement. Now was her chance to grab that shroud and put an end to this madness. Amoura gathered her composure and strength alike to make this move.

She briskly walked forward, pinched her glove, removed it to expose her hand, and stepped into the room bathing in the Shroud's light. A soothing warmth filled her as she drew close. The aches, the pains, and the delirium had become a distant memory.

With her ungloved hand, she touched the Shroud...

[Tajna Rasha]

The light faded upon contact just as the distant tremor of the Arashi clamored across Utopia. The touch was electric – the silken strands of the artifact wrapped itself around the fingers of the Night Angel as though animated by demonic life. The surface roughened beneath her hand, turning cloth to ornate and battered stone sharp enough to cut through skin and draw blood from vein. She pulled away instinctively, a single marbled red drop falling upon the head of the object so many had desperately sought in attempt to stop the madness that had haunted her entire life. She watched as her life snaked through the cracks of the thing, much as it had in the hand of Veran what already seemed a lifetime ago.

Then her mind raced at what she saw. That unmistakable feeling of dread that had taken everything from her felt like nothing now at the revelation that was bestowed upon her. That in this moment, she realized what the face of god represented. She finally remembered what she had seen so long ago in that cave where Lucifer had been set free – when she had seen the End in one nearly fatal moment. She was now looking at that same visage in the object of her salvation.

The Shroud was the face of an Arashi.

[Silver Eyes]

Amoura's hand wavered over Shroud. The Night Angel remained frozen in place, eyes empty, mind full. But what was she thinking in this tense moment? What could possibly stop her from fulfilling her duty? Her eyes closed half-way, then shifted in Tajna's direction. Her pale digits curl into her palm and she twists herself around to face the Ghost.

And she was enraged. Still, she had to remain calm.

"So this was your plan all along," her tone was restrained, despite her anger, "you selfish creature." Amoura's shoes clipped against the floor and the sound echoed through the room. It had become unsteadily quiet. Even a breath would be deafening.

She pointed at the door, but didn't let her eyes leave Tajna.

"He isn't here now. We have all the time in the world, Ghost. So explain yourself. I want to hear the words from your mouth. Everything."

Amoura took a step forward and her tone hardened, "NOW!" Her scream ripped through the chamber's tranquil state. She waited for his response...

[Tajna Rasha]

A clawed hand was at her throat in an instant, lifting her from her feet and digging farther into already existing wounds.

‘‘Do not presume to make demands of us!’’ The words were spat like venom. Even as she stared down upon the figure of the wraith not ten feet away from her, another held her with a force that rivaled her most cruel adversary. Eyes blazing with an unnatural flame like she had never seen in the phantom, for the first time its voice carried a tone that even death would sway to. Its grasp grew only tighter before letting her fall once more to the ground beside the Shroud. The original form of Tajna Rasha walked in the position of the one who had assailed her, whom instead vanished in a spectral mist.

‘‘We have been partners in what has been a very long dance, Amoura Ethelia.’’ It stood over her, an angel of death. ‘‘We will entertain with the truth, and crush the very illusions of hope we have nurtured – dearest Herald.’’

[Silver Eyes]

‘‘Do not presume to make demands of us!’’

Amoura's lips curled into a smirk at Tajna's outburst. His claw dug into her flesh, reopening closing wounds, but she still held that expression proudly. The Ghost had never been this angry, and in this moment, she found a strange satisfaction in bringing out this side of him. "Oh, I think I can. After all, you need me to put the shroud on willingly." The power wasn't completely her favor, but that taste, that drop of water on her tongue, was enough to satisfy. Tajna dropped her, she rubbed her raw neck, and she began asking him:

"So, I've got a feeling as to why you did this, but I'm asking regardless. Why did you orchestrate so much of my life to lead to this?" Amoura clasped her hands behind her back, "What are you really? Why did you choose me out of everyone else? You know of everything else I'm going to ask so I fail to see a point in asking anything else."

Amoura stared at the Shroud from the corner of her eye. The face of an Arashi of all things.

"But I will ask this. I will not survive if I put on that Shroud, will I?"