Weight of Worlds

When the understanding first came over him, Ranvir thought he might have begun the process when he took in second-order material into Graywing’s cage. Preparing for it was more likely.

The world twisted and fought against him, yet it was nothing unto his will. His broken spirit burned as it was reconstituted. Made again, stronger, adaptable, and more enduring. Each passing moment furthered this new transformation, sparking new strength and life.

The world succumbed to his will, breaking into potential and reforming. He restored his injuries, then stitched his spirit together. There was strain in the effort, strain that he now understood would and could tear a soul apart.

Likely, it had torn Saleema’s. But his was already injured and so long as he held on, it could damage him no further. There were no weak-points, or old flaws to abuse that hadn’t already broken.

Focusing his effort, Ranvir worked through first Graywing’s cage. Seeing Stratos’ butterfly, he realized the bird could buy him time. It vanished in a flicker of light as it burst from him. He still felt the connection, like in the times before, when they’d only been bonded.

Amanaris and tether-space came in their own time, finishing together, and Ranvir righted himself. No longer falling through the apocalyptic realm, he gazed across the chaotic, roiling energies. Power unto power. Tearing each other asunder.

He clenched his fists, both human now.

In the far distance, well beyond his sight, but not beyond his senses. Perhaps not beyond the senses of any who came here. He sensed a core. Searingly bright and venomously powerful. It felt as if it might send his soul withering just approaching it.

Goddess? He wondered before turning away.

“We must fight.” The spawn whispered. It quivered and shook. To Ranvir, it felt as once sickened onto a cramping and ill and healthy with the vigor of an ox. With an effort of will, he slipped this strange realm, wondering if he would ever return. If it could keep him out.

The chill winter’s bite struck Ranvir with frigid force. Within the other realm, gusts of wind traveling from those spires of ice froze him to the core, yet there was an unreality to that place. Reality could never appear like that. There could never be such a prolonged exposure of powers. It would fade, separate out into individual elements. That place was almost as if all three of Ranvir’s powers occupied the same space.

The city was in ruins. People were crying and screaming. Soldiers were running through the street, keeping the civilians from a boiling over into rioting.

Saleema was in the palace gardens, fighting Graywing and Loce. Oh, worn she was now. Space slipped around him, no longer strangely reluctant as what he’d felt beyond the Liminal.

One last time, then. Ranvir shot out of his pocket-space. The palace gardens were a torn and ripped mess around him. Loce and Graywing were already clashing with Saleema, but she let out a howl on seeing him.

The giant vulture burst into gray storm mana, roaring towards and encircling Ranvir. As they reunited, Ranvir’s features changes once more. His arms shifted, turning scaled and taloned. Wings burst from his back, shredding what little remained of his shirt — a set of large ones with a smaller pair peering out underneath.

She had torn his usual spaces from him, leaving him without sand and the time to get more. But even that was no help. The storm locust, elemental of sand, swirled around him, infused with Sand Bastion. Losing access to his Loce was a minor loss for the defense.

Ranvir struck her like a runaway horse. Forging his spirit into a hammer to follow the blow. She fell to the ground, him on top, both their souls quivering from the impact. He kept hammering her while she was down, bucking underneath him.

Knuckles slamming into cheek, mouth, and nose. Bone crunched and Ranvir was sliced open on teeth. Snarling, she spat a clot of bloody tooth through compressed space. Bastion deflected the attack, but it gave her enough room to slip away.

Appearing in a flash of light, blood seeping from her swollen face, she whipped arms out. Space strangling him, seizing and shifting away. Venting him out of Vednar. But Ranvir was not Graywing and would not be taken by surprise again.

Counteracting, he wrapped space tightly under his control, returning moments after she pushed him out. Coming in, he synergized Sand Bastion into Dune Blow. Whether it was Loce or simply his new mana type, it was wilder than he was used to. Sand shifted from him, following into an avalanche of sand.

Sand exploded, tearing Saleema from her feet. Wheeling across the garden, she hammered, struck the distant wall with a crunching snap, and folded limply on the soil below. She lingered below the bloodstained wall, the effort of healing herself plain on her soul.

Ranvir attacked again, throwing her clear across the garden and toward an opposing inner wall. She vanished in a flash of violet light, her spirit appearing on the other side. Her presence dulled immediately, then vanished as she attempted to hide.

He hesitated to follow. Where were the others? Kirs, Esmund, Ayvir, and Grevor were to the west of him somewhere within the palace. He sensed a gate near them, to the school. Pashar, Amalia, and Morphos were lingering in the towers nearby.

Tweaking his Perception, he followed the scent of Saleema’s blood, still lingering on her form. Kasos had hidden himself entirely, which wasn’t that surprising. But he couldn’t find Sansir or Dovar. Nor could he find the Sleeping Sons.

Grevor, Ranvir thought, his heart going out to the man. Had Sansir left him to stay with the Sons? Dovar had to be with his sister, rather than risking his life in the palace. I have to finish it quick, then.

He was closing in now; the scent growing stronger. She had avoided the palace insides, likely wanting to avoid running into anyone. He spread Loce out, as he got a better sense of where she was heading.

He almost snorted with laughter. He rounded the corner to find her running for the stables. Horses were whinnying and screaming inside, but she’d not quite got that far. She was just entering a small ring lined with fence posts. A nearby snow-covered rack obscured training weapons.

“Enough, Saleema!” Ranvir roared, sending Loce forth to stop her.

She turned, violet eyes afire with runnels of yellow. Those eyes widened at seeing him without protection. A rock appeared in her fist, already cocked back to strike. On the training ground, below the snow, the ground stirred. Sand rushed up, seizing hold of her and pulling her down.

She slammed into the snow as Loce landed on her, devouring and slowing any technique she attempted. Sand streamers rose from all around her, rising high into the sky, meeting Ranvir at the top of his leap. The grains mixed with rains and clouds gathering in his fist.

Dune Blow, powered by both Storm and Sandstorm mana.

Ranvir struck like a bolt of lightning, ripping the arena apart. Sand blasted the near lying buildings, sanding off varnish and paint, even punching through. Horses screamed and cried in the stalls, finally reaching their breaking point and kicking the gates down.

Straightening, he looked down at what remained of Saleema. Twisted and broken. One arm had been shattered beyond recognition and her eyes weren’t focusing, more yellow than purple.

Dune Blow wound up and some part of her recognized the Ability. Raising her good arm, he took it clean off. She was blubbering in ancient Kisi and struggling to heal herself, but the effort wasn’t there. She didn’t have it in her.

He struck again. Her spirit fell limp, and she went quiet. Ranvir’s stomach twisted at the sight of her. Broken and battered on the ground. Tears in her eyes as she stared beyond him at the dome above them. Her legs kicked weakly, as if she was trying to walk, but otherwise she didn’t move.

“Enough,” Saif called, setting down in a cloud of ember and smoke. “She’s beaten. Finished. There’s no more to this fight.”

Ranvir maintained the Dune Blow around his hand, but looked at Saif. The man had aged in the time since Ranvir saw him last. Though his hair was still black, his features were harrowed. Dirts, ash, and soot stained every groove and cranny. Exhaustion drew heavily under his eyes, and his nails were each chewed to the root.

“Would have me leave her? Let her return later?” Ranvir asked. “I’m not doing this again, Oldman.”

Saif winced, but stepped forward. “Look at her! She’s just a kid. She doesn’t understand what she’s doing.”

“Children don’t leave messes like this,” Morphos said, setting down on the opposite end of the crater. “If Ranvir cannot strike her down, will you do it?”

Ranvir gazed at Morphos, before turning to look at Saif. “Can you?”

“Guys,” Amalia cut in, her voice tense. “What is that?”

Ranvir followed her tether-sense, tracking it to the dome and beyond, just in time for something to punch through in a shower of ice and snow.