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Manun 'Behemoth' Seyananqiren

The slight rustle of grasses swaying gently in the breeze calms me, their soft jostling starkly contrasting the memories that flood my mind as I soak in the Ether from afar. It's been hundreds of years since I first walked these lands. I remember the magnificent cities that once towered above me, their gleaming structures stretching toward the heavens. The bustling streets, filled with life and energy, seem like a distant dream now.

Long ago, I was a puny Seyananqiren, a runt of my 'litter' without any future. There were millions like me. I remember how impressive the marble walls of Bumule were and the incredible Penobscots that oversaw its safety. I remember how I trembled the first time an arrow was pointed in my direction.

The legendary archers at the time were mountains I could never bypass. Each trained for a decade at the minimum before being allowed to walk atop the inner walls.

Hah... I remember my shock when I heard the captains of the divisions had their own Sigils and that they were... supernatural.

The legends back then—how pitiful. All the honors that used to stand far and above me were turned into nothing but forgotten history. Only two still remember the old ways.

Perhaps that's the way it should be.

Those cities fell during the war that consumed the planet, leaving nothing but ashes and ruins. The Collapse followed a time when civilization crumbled, and chaos reigned supreme, where I was forced to crawl through mud, shit, blood, and grime to survive.

A demon back then... Strong. Pft. We were outnumbered, scattered, and ostracized due to our weaknesses. The Mother Below came like a storm during a civil war, shattering the greatest civilization ever to exist and leaving me struggling for strength.

Before the winds sailed their course, however, I was no longer that puny boy. I stood tall above many, and in the millennia that followed, I rose to power, carving my way through society's shattered remnants.

Few have ever been my equal. Fewer have been my better. When it came to those old days... in a direct fight, I was at the tippy top, surrounded only by those I knew to their cores. Only those born with the might to shape worlds as they see fit join those ranks besides... a slim handful of names.

Letrian Drasonian, or my close enemy and friend, Levi.

Louis Fern, a bastardly upright man with a heart of gold who refused ever to cower.

Remington Shaw, a son of bitch who was far too talented for his own good.

Vincent Harvey, an absurdly confident storm with every ounce of strength to back it up.

And finally, Kaisen, the old maniac of war, who loved nothing but fighting and killing. A perfect fit for the times we were born in.

Back then... Somehow, somehow, I knew things would fall back to the few of us. The others... they were good. Very good, but they just didn't have 'it'. I don't know exactly what I mean, but... I was right in the end. And I know that Vincent has 'it' too. The drive... the need. The desire for strength above all else. We each have our own goals that we wish, but at the core, we desire strength above all. And still... as I think back... I am unsure if I truly have that factor. If I did...

Levi has become a God, something we've both struggled to accomplish for centuries. Louis did it long ago but would never share the details. I don't think he ever forgave us for abandoning the expedition. Remington Shaw was finally put to rest after his duty. Vincent Harvey defied all to do what was thought impossible. And Kaisen...

He's on his way here now.

I grip my rugged hands, my claws closing tightly as I stare out over the field. This could be the last decision I make, and I know there's no turning back. A thousand years ago, I chose to run to escape the consequences of my actions, and I don't regret that decision. It kept me alive when the world was falling apart. There is no doubt in my mind that I would have fallen in Hell or Purgatory. After all... even Kaisen and Remington did, on top of the other three of our team. Only Louis survived unchanged, not without his fair share of scars.

But this time, I won't run. I can't. I am no longer a coward. I've spent centuries at the top of the food chain, and I've come to understand that true strength isn't in fleeing from danger; it's in facing it, no matter the cost.

I knew that back then, too. Yet, after the loss of Mammon... I just couldn't anymore.

One does not gain one's own Dominion without facing one's fair share of warfare, death, danger, and fate.

Yet... I have relied heavily on my gifts to reach this point. I'll be the first to admit it: we demons have inescapable differences from the other races. We are absurdly diverse and varied, with a kind for just about every purpose.

Levi is brain, and I am brawn. It's almost absurd to think back to the first Sigiled I killed, a grizzled veteran of a human that underestimated my physical strength without a Sigil. He had no idea what the difference was between us. Those humans in those times were brutal animals. I respected each and every one I fought. Much has changed.

As I stand here, the sun setting on the horizon, I feel the weight of my past lifting. My four lungs rise as the core of my chest thumps dangerously. Looking down, I notice Tonuyn, the little Craftsman, preparing all he can for this battle.

A clash against a God.

Oh, how it gets my blood boiling. Levi and I have had our differences and fought dozens of times, but I've never had the chance at something like this, even after she ascended.

My eyes shift to the charm tied around my neck, bound with an ether construct that allows it to stretch as my Sirza enables me to grow. The Heirloom that rests there gives me comfort as I feel its currents flow through me.

Heirlooms... I've heard what humans think they are. They believe them to be artifacts built by the Mother Below and gifted to us demons during the early years of the Collapse. How stupid.

Heirlooms are far more and a thousand times more pure.

The humans had their man blessed by time and their mighty king. We demons? We had our Kindred Forefather. Mammon... What a loss.

Holding onto his finest creation, the Iris Of Incarnation, I smile softly.

How I miss you, my mentor. You never should have made that damned lantern. If you didn't... you'd still be alive. Even if the world had been destroyed, perhaps that would have been favored against this. Entering the Underworld... it is not something meant for mortals.

As I feel the Ether in the distance approach this field at the boundary of the Wilds and Depths, where none lived before the Collapse, my smile shifts into a fanged grimace.

The sky begins to shake as I allow my own Ether to be let loose. For one such as I... My body is almost immune to such a substance after so long.

I have had a long time perfecting this skill—this... combination. Yet, there are limits. I did not have the faith in myself as Levi did to start from scratch.

The substance flows out from my body, swirling into the sky in tendrils of raw power. It spirals and twists with the multitudes of techniques, forming a funnel that rushes back into my body, a cyclone of power that amplifies my strength with every return.

I grow taller, broader, and more formidable with each passing moment, the ground trembling beneath my expanding form. Wood grafts itself over my skin and armors my body with my very own Ether, a darkened charcoal tint that is impossible to discern from my skin.

With every foot I gain, I can feel my strength rise, my control over Ether becoming more refined and more precise. Yet, with this newfound power comes the struggle to maintain the thin connections to avoid losing control. This is the risk with every Sirza. The feedback loop strengthens me but also threatens to overwhelm me if I'm not careful.

All of the most remarkable feats harbor the risk of death.

I brace myself, my senses heightened, the pulse of my Ether vibrating through my being. Each breath feels like a gale, each step a quake. I can hear the distant rumble of battle, the world bracing for the clash that is to come.

This is the moment I have lived for. This is the moment I will die for.

Either I win. Or I lose. Tonuyn being here changes nothing to the core of the issue.

A Fist Rises To The Heavens and War Ends With Ashes are two conflicting auras that quickly reach each other.

Kaisen's might meets mine across the skies, and the clouds part for me to discover the avatar of the Son Of War, not that is not him anymore. He is now the God of War. The trees below are but ants to my eyes, something that usually inspires pride in me, but as I look ahead to the scythe-wielding mountain of ash, a sharp helmet hiding the Nahullo within, I feel only challenged.

He meets me at my strongest, at my specialty, and dares to win. This is... likely not something he has ever done before.

How... How Kaisen-like. It appears he has not changed, even after succumbing to Her loving embrace. He is only... pointed now. The weapon that once had no handle is now aimed directly at me.

"We meet again. A final time, Kaisen."

My words scatter the skies further, forcing rivers to recede and forests to bend in response. A long, eerie grin slides onto the avatar of ash with that deathly scythe in hand. Then, it takes steps toward me, each footfall traversing miles.

"Aye. I had hoped there would be more of us from then... but this will do. No coward's way out this time?"

I return the steps, shaking my head as I continue to grow, my Sirza matching the roiling of my heart. Ether swoons within my body and around in with such amounts that I worry if I can truly handle it for long enough to win.

The thought only graces my mind for a split second before I fall into a run, dashing toward Kaisen with all my weight.

"Not this time."

Ash shifts with the same speed Kaisen could without using the avatar, swift enough to contort sound and deafen the unruly. The point of his weapon slides toward me as I put the full force of my being into this rush.

A Fist Raises To The Sky, and I meet the blade of ash.

I punch upward with all my might, my armored knuckles colliding with the scythe of ash as it descends. The impact sends shockwaves through my arm, a brutal jolt that tears open my skin and sends ash spiraling into the wound. The burning pain is instant, the ash spreading like wildfire, infecting my flesh and seeping into my veins. But I don't falter. I can't.

The Kaisen looms above me, his form flickering like a smoldering inferno, his voice a low whisper that promises my end. Shifting to the right, I swing again, allowing my Ether to dip into the Heirloom on my neck.

"The runt has grown his courage to match his size. How profound."

A secondary hand sprouts from the air beside my arm, constructed of mirror-like Ether and follows my closed fist like a reflection. The doubled force meets the God Of War's scythe once more as he flips it with impossible swiftness. The scythe falls again, this time grazing my shoulder, and the pain is excruciating. Ash pours into the new wound, gnawing at my muscles, yet the attack is not over yet.

The secondary fist, formed from the most magnificent Heirloom, lands with the same force as my fist after phasing through the scythe, magnified twice over, upon the avatar's shoulder.

Ash explodes out of Kaisen's Sirza, forcing him to lose grip of his weapon slightly. Seeing an opportunity, I continue.

I lunge forward, driving my shoulder into the avatar's chest, feeling the heat of its burning form against my skin. The air is thick with ash and smoke, making it hard to breathe, but I push through, clawing at the immaterial flesh of my opponent.

The scythe swings again, narrowly missing my neck, and I use the opening to land a brutal punch to the avatar's jaw. It staggers back, ash spilling from its mouth like embers from a fire. I don't let up, following with a series of quick jabs and powerful uppercuts, each one pushing back against the darkness that threatens to consume me with a secondary strike whenever I can spare the Ether for the Incarnation. I use my claws, my jaws, and even my legs to beat down the avatar.

The battle is a blur of motion, the world reduced to a cacophony of pain and determination. I fight tooth and nail, not caring how I win; it's only that I do. I know that if I stop, even for a second, the ash will overtake me, and I refuse to let that happen.

So I fight on, even as my body screams in agony, even as the ash spreads deeper into my veins. The ash is relentless, but so am I, and I will not rest until one of us falls.

Thankfully, I am not alone.

Tonuyn's circles of inscribed Ether light up as my head starts to swoon from the back and forth. A fanged grin meets Kaisen's billowing maw as chains appear from the skies, falling onto the God. The chains are made of Solid Ether, reinforced by Tonuyn's soul and hours of meticulous preparation.

With the impediment on the God, I lunge forward, taking him directly to the ground as miles of earth are upturned, any living beings killed beneath us. I tear into Kaisen's neck with my jaws while I rip him apart with everything else I have within me.

And yet, it is not enough. The God was not even taking us seriously. A low whisper enters my ears from the particles of ash that eat at my defenses.

"Sirzas are so... ordinary. Why don't you combine it all? Oh, right. Not a God. Time to die, little runt."

Countless flashes of pain stream throughout my entire body as the billions of ash particles transform from simple motes into curved blades, each possessing a mind of its own. Instead of merely devouring my flesh, these things begin a war with my whole being.

A blade soars for my chin, and I hardly manage to raise my hands in time, having the blade pierce both and strike the armor beneath. Rocking backward, I slam my skull into the earth, likely transfiguring the landscape permanently.

This is it, huh? A Divinhood? The accumulation of everything one has ever learned, fought for, and bled with? No. It's more than that. He's imbued his Sirza with his Concept. Or the opposite.

How overwhelming.

The ash twitches, molding with itself as the avatar changes to be hundreds of floating scythes, personified war. I remember when I first learned Kaisen's original profession before the wars came to his homeland.

A farmer. He picked up the only tool he had ever known and morphed it into the most dangerous weapon I've known.

More chains fall onto Kaisen, latching onto the many scythes, but they simply recombine, turning into that avatar once more as it lunges a pointed curve at me.

I watch it fall with an out-of-body interest. The rattling of my skull and the injuries that hold onto me after just a few dozen minutes make it hard to think.

The curve quickly grows in size as Tonuyn begins to use another teleportation inscription, only for the Ether to war within itself. At the same time, I feel the insides of my own body begin to fight each other. I quickly lose control of my own Sirza as Kaisen's Divinhood becomes clear.

War. He is truly at war. And all who face him will succumb to the chaos, unable to control the whims of fate.

Unable to lift a hand, I simply watch the blade descend. But another meets it, oppositely placed, as a puny figure stands upon the lacerations of his own Dominion.

A human. A human blocks a God's strike before deflecting it with his sword, which is miniature in comparison to his opponents, causing a rift in the sky.

I watch a literal Crossroads form amidst their clash as one monster born in blood greets another. The winds from the collision of Ether and soul tear into the sky, showing me scenes of distant battles and struggles.

"I think I like you."

"Agreed."

Their simple words fall upon the plethora of wars surrounding them, visible through the pockets of fractured space. I catch a view of a thousand demons, those holding my banner of horns, fighting against an unending tide of Motherbound.

I see the Nahullo struggle to hold against an impossible veil of ice. The God that assails them is confronted by bone and fire, but it doesn't seem to be enough so far north.

The Pygmies rush to join my banner, rallying their soldiers only to be ambushed because of Kaisen's destruction of our preparations.

The humans... they hold the line beneath their Gate of Death. Whoever guards their Underworld... They are worthy of respect, as from what I've seen, the first Gods to step through are some of the strongest. Flint and Kaisen. Awful beings.

Groaning, I push myself onto my feet as a tiny figure leaps onto my shoulder. I recognize the meat bag of a human due to his lack of arms. Kaisen calls for his name, and the monster returns it.

"What do you go by, human?"

Annoyed, I shift to push the human off, but he is far too agile to fall.

"Lennon Hull."

Kaisen's grin reaches a pinnacle I've never seen in my whole life other than when Remington fought him in a faux duel. This is his life.

"How wonderful. You are a Voyager, as am I. This will be delightful. What do you say?"

"Agreed."