How ironic.

The King of Chronomancers, the Archmage of Ages, the Timewalker himself lay down upon the ground, his limbs weakly by his side. His silver eyes were wide and unmoving, staring into the flaming sky above. His mouth was slightly ajar, giving the impression that he had been surprised. His face lay coated with splashes of blood, all from the same source. At his chest, lay a large hole wherein his flesh oozed out the black-red substance. The whiteness of his bones could be seen at any who would simply look down, the fragments of his ribcage lay embedded in his heart. How had it come to this? How had he become the hidden meaning behind Oh how the mighty have fallen? How could the one that felled Nidhoggr have ended up on the opposite end of the river? Thick smoke and dust floated across the tattered battlefield, making it difficult to even see the mans body. The scorched earth lay battered and bruised; of masterless swords stabbed into the earth and of useless shields scattered across the land. Crimson blood snaked its way across the cracks in the earth as if attempting to meet with a long lost love. Fires erupted from great fissures and lightning struck down upon the ground. The gales erupted into razor sharp turbulence, fusing with the fires to become massive pyres of scalding flame. Men armed with brutal swords, spears, war hammers and any other weapon one could think of charged forth with feral battle roars. All against the madness that had come crawling forth from the nether regions of existence. Their names were known by non and such a thing mattered to an equal amount of people. Mindless, hungry, rampant, evil, disgusting, frenzied These were all words that only mindless fools would use to describe the denizens of the Void. Cold and calculating, these beings felt neither remorse nor any pity for cockroaches such as them. They had not expected to face casualties, and as a result were crippled even more. However, ever intelligent, these beings would adapt and configure their behavior and patterns with each attacking human. It was simply a matter of time now, and both parties knew this fact all too well. They fought a losing battle, riding upon baseless virtues such as pride and honor to justify their throwing away of their lives. Not a single soul dared to admit it, but deep within their angry and confused bodies, they knew it to be true. For each lion hearted man that glared furiously at these foreign life thieves, there was a creature that stared back emptily at them, standing at an intimidating eight feet with empty holes for eyes and not an illuminant part around them. Wisps of black smoke trailed off their inked bodies, disappearing into the blazing air once they had floated far enough from their source. They were of one mind and knew what was coming. They would wait patiently, exterminating any overzealous pests as they exited their little rat holes. They all seemed to move in a slower motion around the fallen chronomancer, however. Thin streaks of black smoke pierced the soldiers at their hearts, through their chests and out their backs. Their arrows passed through the night-like specters like a rock through air. Their swords were able to cut apart the beings but only if they could get close enough. Their mages served as artillery, raining down as much destruction as they could on the opposing forces. The forces of both parties slowed down more and more until finally, they halted. Shimmering orbs of blood lay unmoving in the air, the speckle of spit leaving the mouths of enraged men lay just ahead of their tongues, streaks of black smoke remained unmoving in their goal to attack and all was silent. Not a sound, not a breath, not a motion. For what seemed like an eternity, it remained that way until at last, an elongated blur began to appear in the very existence near the fallen archmage himself. The blur twisted and turned, forming a visible bending in the

scenery. It began spreading open, little by little until it was finally a gaping hole around all. Within the tear was a mind numbing sight; an enormous array of colours were blending with one another, constantly and repeatedly forming millions of other shades every moment it came into contact with another color. They moved in waves and they did so slowly, spreading like ink on paper when they met with other colours. Slowly, an arm emerged from the spectrum of colours then a leg and soon, a body. A man slowly strolled out of the odd tear, not a drop of emotion scrawled across his face. His eyes were ever so slightly wide and alert, yet his face reflected no signs of caution or shock. His hair was unkept and not unlike a wild nest of hair. The brown, recently tamed stubble across his jaw were the only apparent signs of care over himself. His dirty, white coat stretched down to just a little above his ankles, each scratch and stitch displaying the many wounds it had received over the course of its life. It bore an assortment of signs, symbols and sigils those of which only the highest of mages could decipher. His silver eyes glinted against the unmoving flames as he slowly began to circle the body of a man that once was. Nothing but the sound of his own boots upon the earth was heard as the man stopped near the bodys left shoulder. Slowly, he bent down, tilting his neck ever so slightly in the process with his eyes fixed and unmoving upon the hole in the bodys chest, a barely visible expression of fascination playing on his face. The man placed his left palm mere inches away from the grievous wound that claimed the fallen mans life. It is interesting, is it not? hummed the man in almost a whisper, his voice displaying the same amount of fascination that one could see on his face. There was, however, a slight European accent, as the world would one day come to call it. This is your idea of interesting? called out another voice. A second man had already emerged from the spectrum of colors, his arms crossed. His ghostly white hair extended longer than most would care for, forming into a slight point at the back with strands covering his face and his vicious, blood red eyes that looked down at the man and the corpse with displeasure. His black coat hung down to his knees and his gloved hands remained flexed in unease as they gripped at his arms. Why do you do this, Fawkes? While we are prancing about viewing your precious possibilities, Hellraven and Neil are defen the man began, but he was cut short when the one named Fawkes looked back up at him in an instant. Though the one named Fawkes bore an expression of no emotion, his slightly wide mad, even- eyes gave off an upsetting intimidation. Silver pupils met Red pupils in an almost fixed stare as the man opened his mouth to speak. You know very well he does not like to be called that, Ilo. The one bearing the name of Ilo grunted and stiffened his gaze back at the other man. Crow. He growled out. Do remind me what we are actually doing here, again? he asked Fawkes, spreading his arms wide so as to show the gravity of the situation. Fawkes ominous eyes traced the battlefield and for almost a fraction of an instant, Ilo could see a spot of sadness show on Fawkes face. It disappeared as soon as it had appeared and the man looked down at the corpse once more. He moved his hand across the bodys chest and reached into the fleshy wound,

pushing past the shattered bone and carefully closed his fingers around the pierced heart without hesitation. With a single flex of his arm, Fawkes tugged the mans heart out of his chest and held it up to his eyes to examine it. This he whispered, as Fawkes examined the heart and was able to barely make out small purple and green veins between the bone fragments. With one final glance at the body, he stood up, staring face to face with the other man once more. Fawkes extended his hand, the heart lying at the very tips of his blood coated fingers. At this point, the massive height difference between the two men was made quite visible. Ilo furrowed his eyebrows in disgust at the sight of the heart. Lifting his wrist, the heart floated out of Fawkes hand and the blood on it and his hand disintegrated into the air, tiny specks floated down that were not even visible to their eyes. Ilo took hold of the heart with a hesitant touch, looking down upon it. He looked back up at Fawkes. And youre certain this may help? asked the man. Fawkes smiled at the man and dusted his hands, stepping over the body and past Ilo. He stopped just ahead of Ilo so as to answer his question. Time will tell, my friend. Time will tell he said, amusement laced in his voice. Ilo lowered his eyelids to half their level, annoyed with the behavior of the strange man. He looked down to the heart and took a deep breath, after which he crushed the organ in his hand. The very instant that the flesh collapsed upon itself, four wide streams of red particles shot out from the organ which had now faded from existence. It hung in the air in a wide X shape, originating at Ilos hand and floating very slowly in curved lines. Ilo placed his the fingertips of his right palm against the very center of his chest. Fuquies he hissed, pulling back his fingers. As he pulled them out, seemingly gripped in his palm was a small, dimly blue orb surrounded by light blue smoke. The smoke did not rise into the air and simply fluttered about weakly as Ilo extended the object towards the floating particles. Then, as if suddenly acquiring minds, the streams of particles did a quick curve and shot into the orb, flooding its contents into the object, slowly turning a pale blue as it did so. The smoke in the orb jerked about violently as the stream ended. Ilo gazed down at the blue object for a brief moment before slowly and carefully pushing the object back into his chest, exhaling a large amount of air after he had done so. He looked up and surveyed the carnage before him. In just a moment, these men would march to their deaths and the beings would learn more of their primal behavior. Can we not intervene in this pointless blood affair? Ilo muttered to Fawkes, not taking his eyes off the saddening image ahead of him. Fawkes remained quiet and lowered his gaze towards the bottom of the rip in existence. His mind seemed almost like it wanted to scold his soul and his body felt like it wished to harm itself. Not turning his head to Ilo, he spoke. It is not yet the time You know this. He raised his head to meet the infinite combination of colours in front of him. Come, our comrades await our arrival he said firmly. With that, Fawkes stepped into the portal, his body melding into the flow of colors and soon disappearing from view as he strolled in slowly.

Ilo took one final glance at the now heartless corpse. An optimist believes that the worst situation is the best out of all others he said, as if talking to the body. He then turned back to the portal. A realist fears that such a thing may be true. Ilo stepped inside the tear in existence, his body melding into the colours as well.