Wednesday, May 10, 2023

The Uplift Protocol Twin Rulers of the Sky: Issue 27

Issue 27: Mordred’s Hook


    I saw it while the Highest was locked in battle with the various faces of Unity. We arent going to win this war. Not the war of flesh. The war of souls.--Mordred


    We kept calling it a finger trap. It was more than that. But it was the only way.--Dexter Murphy


    The multiverse wants a council of the best and brightest. I say we should have a mix of everyone from every angle of life. That way we don’t blind ourselves to the obvious. It is because I am a symbol that I cannot take the role they wish upon me. Where I go? Many will follow.----Sleeping In Starlight: Post Convergence Files (Conclave Access Required)



Ahpaktu

llaros Territory

Earth


    Mordred possessed the body of the Inktu.


    It was this world’s word for imp. It mattered not. He would never go back to the Ninth Circle. He dug through the mossy earth. His bulbous orange eyes flicked to the left as foliage rattled. He sliced his palm. Green ichor dripped. Three sets of spears impaled his chest. Dull thuds resounded in his ears as the tribesmen approached.


    They made a sign to the sky. Invoking the Oversoul for protection.


    Mordred smiled, “This...rite...was not...for you….”


    He laughed as the lead hunter ran his knife across his throat.


    He had done his work. All those years trapped in the Ninth had given him insight he never shared with any other inmates. The Oversoul never wanted the utterly destroy them. That one desired peace by obedience. What little shreds of soul they had left? He wanted to purify. Only Good would think it could save them all. It was why J’anu and Ta’rammon had taken that slim chance of lesser damnation.


    Fools.



    Mordred crawled to the edge.


    The Highest summoned lightning. It struck Unity, Abbadon, and anyone else foolish enough to be close to the innermost rings of the Ninth Circle. Cain ran a callused thumb across his bristling yellowed beard.


    “Chronos keeps his other selves distracted.”


    It was a shock to learn that every bit of greater Evil he knew of spawned from one entity. The Devourer. In retrospect the name Chronos should have set off warning bells. Each cycle he began anew. Sampling species from all across the universe. Testing the makeup of souls to steal the wisdom of his enemies. Karvax no longer remembered his former life. That was the danger here. Promise too much with your mortal skin? You found yourself the unwitting puppet of the insane asylum.


    X’mil would find himself here. There was a price for hanging on to Dark Shaman abilities outside the norm. Convergence had been obtained. It hadn’t come with the first death of the Banner. No, the Oversoul had been slowly purging the influences of the Devourer across all the ages. The Cycles. Not just from the physical realm. He wished to purge soul corruption. The newest incarnation of the Multiverse gleamed as a set of silver stars circling over the aura of the Highest. Even in this blighted place.


    New paths to burrow into.


    Even now the tendrils of dark power tugged at the edges of his mind.


    The heavy thrum of leather wings pulled him sideways off the cliffs. J’anu’s cold crimson eyes, the one feature that remained from her previous life bore into him, while her spiked tail coiled about his chest and waist. He bit back a hiss of pain as Ta’rammon wrapped one massive clawed appendage about his neck. Shadows clung to the former human. That one had been vain in life. Mordred stilled as a pale figure approached.


    A patchwork cloak of skin obscured its features. Cain lowered himself. He bowed cautiously to the newcomer. He never looked up from the scorched earth. A delicate feminine hand appeared from the cloak. She hummed as she ran her fingers through Cain’s hair.


    “The new wheel rises. Even now this place is being positioned at the heart of the Elusian.”


    The murder’s voice was oddly respectful.


    Karvax had met this woman once. She had professed to serve Unity. It had all been a lie. She served the Devourer. They all did. In one way or another. Mordred cursed silently for the gifts given to him. He was one of the Blood. One of Chronos’ prized experiments. The answer to the Vigil of the Three.


    There must be a way to break these bonds inside him.


    The skinned one pressed one palm to his chest.


    “You will walk the path. Knowingly or not. It is too late for you to choose.”


    Mordred’s mouth opened in a silent scream of despair as every nerve in his body burned white hot. His soul grew taunt. Then it was sucked into a whirlwind. Enteral cold shot through him. He shivered. There was nothing beyond the void. Nothing awaited him except for the blasted abyss of the Ninth Circle.


    He caught sight of the curvature of the planet. It was massive. Triple the size of Earth.


    His heart skipped a beat. He inhaled sharply.


    He recoiled from the purple flames encircling him but his limbs wouldn't respond. Frog-like beings peered up at him through the flames.


    “The Eyes of the Devourer.”


    Metal and bone clanked against his chest.


    A small frogman, with red stripes along his back bowed, “I greet you. Bound you are. To the will of the Devourer.” His mouth sac expanded. He let out a croak that resonated within Mordred’s chest.


    He held his staff aloft, “By the Blood. The Bone. The Sand. You are known.”


    Mordred moved beyond the circle of fire. He left the darkness of the cave. It didn’t hurt. His limbs were longer. A surreal strength filled his core. He crouched near the stream of water. His features were harsh. But fitting. Two curling horns on his head behind each ear. Four red horns poked from his smooth skin above his eyebrows. His skin was charcoal dark. His irises were a dark purple. He had no need to blink. He opened his mouth.


    Black tissue. Black tongue. His tooth was a dagger.


    He held his 4 fingered hands to the sky.


    No hint of black scrawl.


    This form was not tied directly to Chronos.


    What plans did they have for his Eden cycle form? The Ninth Circle contained nearly all evil from all Cycles since the start of the Oversoul’s reign. But what happened to all the physical shells? Where did the Oversoul store them?


    Where.


    The Answer would save him. He was certain.



    Charon lifted the obsidian scale. Darva murmured, >>All their former shells are contained. What little soul connection was left is completely severed. Shall I run all threads through containment?<<


    >>From the Eden Cycle. But yes. Keep up the wards. Run all processes.<<


    Every piece of the board was in play now.


    These would provide the glue that would seal away all Evils forever.


    Mortals would still be imbued with the power to choose. That was the promise of the Oversoul. Charon was put here for a singular purpose. The world of Man and Divine would be separated. So that Evil could be denied the pull on the soul. No longer would the Devourer lay claim to those who came after.


    Mordred returned to his fallen shell.


    Chronos’ Will plucked away at the outer edges of his mind.


    But unlike his half human form? This body was insulated. Due to its summoning ties to the Frogman. Mordred didn’t bother learning their names. They were beyond notice. Only put on this earth to serve. The fact that a baseline primitive landmass had more raw power than the typical Light or Dark Shaman gave Mordred ample concern. Chronos was prepping everyone for a feast. One he intended to use to break past the bonds that held his main bulk in place. It was never about freedom. It was about the Devourer consuming all. Apsects, Angels, Demons, Demis and mortals. None would escape. It was sheer folly that the Oversoul even attempted such a thing.


    He needed to find a J’kua Learning Sphere.


    Have one of the sanctimonious graylings activate it.


    He’d bury himself deep within his enemy’s priceless artifacts. Live out ages in the blink of an eye before the end game. All he had to do was get off this backwards hovel. He painted additional wards onto his forearms. All he had to do was make enough noise to catch the eye of the Protectorate. America and her erstwhile allies were finally reformed into nations he remembered. Now it was time to prod the Frogmen.


    Make a bridge to the outside world.


    He inhaled the salty air.


    Lucifer would arrive. Mordred would be ready.


Issue 26: Here

Issue 28: Here

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