The Third Truthseeker felt many things.
The intoxicating sense of power and growth came first; a perpetually-intensifying ecstasy that only redoubled each time he thought it was at its peak. The wailing and screeching which surrounded him felt as though the most exquisite music to his ears. It put the greatest of his works to shame, no orchestra of living instruments could compare to the sound of countless, worthless mortals being rendered into the fuel of Third's apotheosis.
He also felt anger and regret, knowing that he was being robbed of that which was rightfully his with every passing moment. Despite his efforts, the self-righteous frogs hell bent on dragging him down the well of mediocrity continued their work in subverting the ritual. It would have surely collapsed and devoured him had he not taken such great pains to reinforce it and to ensure there was no single point of failure.
Third couldn't sense anything besides himself, and the maelstrom of sacrificial energy. Even then, he couldn't see any further into the maelstrom than those outsiders - a precious few metres from where he floated. The means of reading the maelstrom's status were, however, built into the ritual circle's control arrays as a necessity.
All this time, he had been interpreting fluctuations in the maelstrom's outermost layers to guide his decisions. Even the Revenant constructs were fire-and-forget, as any information they could try to relay back would be lost within the maelstrom.
So then, why did a sense of impending doom fester in the back of his mind?
He ignored it.
No, more than that, he crushed it down and relegated it to the darkest oubliette of his mind, to be dealt with later. Preferably never.
He wasn't given a choice.
Slowly, gradually, almost imperceptibly, that feeling of impending doom grew.
Bit by bit, he felt an intense tension building in his vicinity, like invisible hands pulling at him in all directions. All of his faculties being occupied with controlling the ritual, Third had no choice but believe that the maelstrom's sheer intensity and his own passive defences would protect him against any attempt to reach him with an attack.
The Third Truthseeker's hopes were, however, dashed.
One instant, he was fine.
The next, he had been struck by lightning, run through by a spear, and torn into by countless razor-fanged maws.
And through the gap that had been torn into his ritual, he saw it.
Not a person, not a war machine, not a weapon nor a spirit. He saw a dragon made of lightning, its maw agape as it breathed golden flame, its wings of lightning stone-still, yet keeping it aloft in brazen defiance of nature.
Then he blinked, and realized that it was far worse than a dragon.
It. Was. Her.
As for Zelsys, she felt nothing besides release. For a few moments, as she pulled the trigger, she feared that the already gigantic magnetic forces acting on her body would tear her apart.
But once she uttered the invocation and the striker slammed the ignition glyph, all those worries were gone. Her lightning and aura both poured out of her like a breath released after being held for far too long.
"Thunder... cannon."
The flame of a dragon's gullet ignited within a cage of metal. It would have simply torn it asunder, were it not also wrought of a dragon's metal flesh.
It was not a gout, or burst, or explosion.
It came out of the barrel as a mighty golden pillar, propelling a tower of steel, both through pressure and through direct manipulation of natural law. The world bent under the will of a human empowered by the seemingly boundless might of a dragon.
One by one, the bullet passed through gates within a tunnel made of steel and lightning. One by one, it was forced to accelerate even faster, and each gate it passed collapsed behind the bullet, its constituent matter and energy becoming part of the greater, gestalt projectile.
A FLAME THAT BURNS SO BRIGHT
TO LIGHTEN THE DARKEST NIGHT SKY
EIGHTFOLD PATH TO DEVASTATION
DRAGONSLAYER THUNDERCANNON
In an instant, a beam of light tore through the maelstrom, and a deluge of constructs followed with it. Countless lightning serpents, the Thundergods, the Chrome Skull Viper biting the Third Truthseeker's head and winding around his body in an attempt to crush his red-glowing body. He floated in place, glowing like some sort of god, and he exuded an aura worthy of that descriptor. The humanity was gone from his eyes, and his body was illuminated from within such that it could not possibly be just a singular source of intense power. His proportions were a bit too long, yet perfectly chiseled, and a long mane of scarlet, shining hair billowed about him. His face was sharp, his jaw square, his chin pointy, his nose prominent yet elegant, his burning eyes narrow and slightly tilted - all unlike his soft, quasi-ikesian-aristocrat features from before. He was the image of a living god. The man had not wasted a moment, he had been harnessing the souls of the sacrificed to reforge himself in every sense of the word.
And as all that took place, the maelstrom was cast into disarray. The gap which the Dragonslayer had carved wasn't just hesitant to close, it refused. Golden flame burned at its perimeter, forcing it to remain open.
Akaso
If you’d like to read ahead, consider heading on over to the Patreon! You get up to 20 advance chapters for both Retribution Engine and Cherno Caster.
I’d also greatly appreciate it if you could rate my story, maybe even leave a review or advanced review!
For a link to the discord, check the synopsis.
The Third Truthseeker felt many things.
The intoxicating sense of power and growth came first; a perpetually-intensifying ecstasy that only redoubled each time he thought it was at its peak. The wailing and screeching which surrounded him felt as though the most exquisite music to his ears. It put the greatest of his works to shame, no orchestra of living instruments could compare to the sound of countless, worthless mortals being rendered into the fuel of Third's apotheosis.
He also felt anger and regret, knowing that he was being robbed of that which was rightfully his with every passing moment. Despite his efforts, the self-righteous frogs hell bent on dragging him down the well of mediocrity continued their work in subverting the ritual. It would have surely collapsed and devoured him had he not taken such great pains to reinforce it and to ensure there was no single point of failure.
Third couldn't sense anything besides himself, and the maelstrom of sacrificial energy. Even then, he couldn't see any further into the maelstrom than those outsiders - a precious few metres from where he floated. The means of reading the maelstrom's status were, however, built into the ritual circle's control arrays as a necessity.
All this time, he had been interpreting fluctuations in the maelstrom's outermost layers to guide his decisions. Even the Revenant constructs were fire-and-forget, as any information they could try to relay back would be lost within the maelstrom.
So then, why did a sense of impending doom fester in the back of his mind?
He ignored it.
No, more than that, he crushed it down and relegated it to the darkest oubliette of his mind, to be dealt with later. Preferably never.
He wasn't given a choice.
Slowly, gradually, almost imperceptibly, that feeling of impending doom grew.
Bit by bit, he felt an intense tension building in his vicinity, like invisible hands pulling at him in all directions. All of his faculties being occupied with controlling the ritual, Third had no choice but believe that the maelstrom's sheer intensity and his own passive defences would protect him against any attempt to reach him with an attack.
The Third Truthseeker's hopes were, however, dashed.
One instant, he was fine.
The next, he had been struck by lightning, run through by a spear, and torn into by countless razor-fanged maws.
And through the gap that had been torn into his ritual, he saw it.
Not a person, not a war machine, not a weapon nor a spirit. He saw a dragon made of lightning, its maw agape as it breathed golden flame, its wings of lightning stone-still, yet keeping it aloft in brazen defiance of nature.
Then he blinked, and realized that it was far worse than a dragon.
It. Was. Her.
As for Zelsys, she felt nothing besides release. For a few moments, as she pulled the trigger, she feared that the already gigantic magnetic forces acting on her body would tear her apart.
But once she uttered the invocation and the striker slammed the ignition glyph, all those worries were gone. Her lightning and aura both poured out of her like a breath released after being held for far too long.
"Thunder... cannon."
The flame of a dragon's gullet ignited within a cage of metal. It would have simply torn it asunder, were it not also wrought of a dragon's metal flesh.
It was not a gout, or burst, or explosion.
It came out of the barrel as a mighty golden pillar, propelling a tower of steel, both through pressure and through direct manipulation of natural law. The world bent under the will of a human empowered by the seemingly boundless might of a dragon.
One by one, the bullet passed through gates within a tunnel made of steel and lightning. One by one, it was forced to accelerate even faster, and each gate it passed collapsed behind the bullet, its constituent matter and energy becoming part of the greater, gestalt projectile.
A FLAME THAT BURNS SO BRIGHT
TO LIGHTEN THE DARKEST NIGHT SKY
EIGHTFOLD PATH TO DEVASTATION
DRAGONSLAYER THUNDERCANNON
In an instant, a beam of light tore through the maelstrom, and a deluge of constructs followed with it. Countless lightning serpents, the Thundergods, the Chrome Skull Viper biting the Third Truthseeker's head and winding around his body in an attempt to crush his red-glowing body. He floated in place, glowing like some sort of god, and he exuded an aura worthy of that descriptor. The humanity was gone from his eyes, and his body was illuminated from within such that it could not possibly be just a singular source of intense power. His proportions were a bit too long, yet perfectly chiseled, and a long mane of scarlet, shining hair billowed about him. His face was sharp, his jaw square, his chin pointy, his nose prominent yet elegant, his burning eyes narrow and slightly tilted - all unlike his soft, quasi-ikesian-aristocrat features from before. He was the image of a living god. The man had not wasted a moment, he had been harnessing the souls of the sacrificed to reforge himself in every sense of the word.
And as all that took place, the maelstrom was cast into disarray. The gap which the Dragonslayer had carved wasn't just hesitant to close, it refused. Golden flame burned at its perimeter, forcing it to remain open.
Akaso
If you’d like to read ahead, consider heading on over to the Patreon! You get up to 20 advance chapters for both Retribution Engine and Cherno Caster.
I’d also greatly appreciate it if you could rate my story, maybe even leave a review or advanced review!
For a link to the discord, check the synopsis.
