Beastforged Bond

“Great speech out there, old man.” Raffael Torch leaned back, feet resting on the table. “Pillars. Sounds like a washed-up version of the old ways’ Wardens.”

“It doesn’t matter what we call them as long as they do what we say,” the old man waved his hand, rolling out a wave of ether to push Raffael’s feet from the table. “Show some manners to the elderly.”

The Ruler of Fire clicked his tongue. “You are not that much older than I am. What’s a few hundred years to us?”

Two more Rulers were seated at the table, but they ignored the old man and Raffael. Spending decades with the elders had made them immune to the odd antics of the older generation.

“How about you return to the Elemental Spires and search for your little birdie instead of disrespecting my Camp?” the old man grumbled.

“Fuck off,” Raffael growled, flames spewing from his throat. “The Elemental Phoenix vanished. None of those useless Seekers can find them. Not even the Diviner can find the Emperor…”

“What’s with that kid? I forgot his name, but there was a cadet with a massive World. He has a divination trait and can see strands of the future.” The old man proposed, a smile playing on his lips. “This year’s cadets are really good, you know?”

“You mean that orphan child you picked up a while ago? He’s useless too. I had him search for the Elemental Phoenix for the last two months, and he couldn’t find that damn beast. And yes, I did pay him for his time. I know how particular you are about those idiotic Camp rules.” Raffael grumbled, flames coiling around his hand. He pressed them into a tight fist and let loose his anger, trying to crush the table with a punch.

Or he tried to, as a barrier formed around the area of impact, absorbing the force of the blow.

“I would prefer that you do not damage my furniture. I quite like this table.” The old man offered a kind, fatherly smile.

“You’re a dick.” Raffael jumped to his feet, flames smothering the area around him. “Continue playing with those infants. Let them play Wardens, or Pillars of mankind, or whatever. They’re too weak to help us, and you know that as well as every other Ruler. The Elemental Phoenix, on the other hand, would have helped us a lot. If you had helped me, or just sent a little more reinforcement to subdue the Emperor before it could kill itself, we’d have two Emperors to deal with Dracos and those damn–…”

The sound of heels clicking on the marble floor rang in their ears all of a sudden, swallowing all other sounds.

The two relaxed Rulers leaped to their feet, while the old man and Raffael spun to the source of the noise, ether rampaging through the weave.

“The spatial barrier of yours was a little bothersome, so I destroyed it.” A beautiful woman phased through the door with a vibrant smile. Large and luminous eyes of molten gold, highlighted by pitch-black vertical slits resembling a cat’s, met mankind’s greatest powers, flashing white fangs. The fur-covered ears protruding from her long, silky white hair wiggled and twitched as the Ruler pair jumped into action.

Or they tried to, as the woman’s warm eyes flicked to them, emitting a faint glow. “Sleep.”

It was only one word, uttered simply. However, it carried immense power. Time seemed to freeze in the room as the word resounded, and the Ruler pair collapsed to the ground, sleeping. Raffael Torch dismissed the power of her command, and so did the old man.

“You managed to raise quite a few loyal dogs since we last met, Gabriel.” She grinned, barely glancing at the sleeping figures, her features sharp and oddly detached. “Those ‘Rulers’ of yours are quite lovely. Weak but loyal. You leashed them, showered them in promises, and–”

The old man–Gabriel–clicked his tongue, intercepting her. “What do you want, Cynthia!?”

Power trickled from his fingers, and time around him seemed to slow.

“As gentle as ever.” Cynthia hinted at a bow, a mocking smile gracing her lips as a blue current zipped through the air, shattering his domain. “Do your Rulers know about your false promises? How many true Rulers do you have left? Five? Six? The rest are victims of your stupidity, or is it greed? Your disregard for their lives is painful to watch.” She shook her head. “But that’s beyond the point. It is not like your actions of the last few centuries mattered much. Not until you decided to break the Pact.”

She spat the last words in anger, power surging through her as she glanced toward the balcony. The streams of ether spread throughout the Grand Camp froze as her eyes glowed, her attention lingering on the gathering masses beyond the balcony.

Gabriel and Raffael gathered power on their own, their bodies tense. A shimmering dome materialized around the sleeping Rulers, but the strange woman didn’t grace them with a glance. Cynthia just smiled, pupils constricting, ears twitching.

“Your youngest victims do not seem too bad,” she noted, sadness seeping into her voice. “You doomed them to death. They won’t make it through the year after the shitshow you and your child caused.”

Cynthia barely glanced at Raffael Torch. “Breaking the Pact was foolish, and I do not believe you think otherwise, Gabriel. We can accept the war with the Fija and Tharthons. We understand it. Our forces have to deal with them as well. They’re a menace and even more troublesome than Bakuraen. But was it necessary to antagonize the Caldera tribes? Was that really necessary? Even if violence can sometimes seem simple, attacking their Voices was the epitome of human stupidity.”

Her voice dipped eerily low, anger seeping into her whole demeanor. “Yet you were lucky. If the Bastions’ actions against the Caldera tribes had resulted in greater trouble in Dracos, just because you and your idiotic family are too stupid to use that mass between your ears, we would have to annihilate you just to keep the peace.” Her golden eyes flicked to Raffael Torch; the promise of death lingered in them. “Consider yourself lucky, brat. Lucky that you failed to confine my sibling. If not for that, I’d rip it out of your soul.”

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Raffael snorted, armor of magma erupting from his body. Flames oozed from the armor as the Ruler of Fire’s power skyrocketed. He stepped forward… or tried to, as an otherworldly pressure descended upon him. The building–no, the entire Grand Camp–shook suddenly, and the Ruler of Fire’s legs caved in. His knees struck the ground, cracking the floor.

“W-What do you want, you whor–” Raffael growled through gritted teeth, but Cynthia wagged her fingers.

The predatory smile resurfaced on her lips. “I had to check on something. In a way, I had to make sure I didn’t have to annihilate the Bastions. That would have been a shame after all the work you put into that little resistance of yours.” Her smile turned mocking, which only agitated Raffael more. He roared and erupted with more power. The Molten Dragon, his Monarch Soulkin, was about to emerge in the room, but Cynthia waved her hand, lips parted as pure ether flowed out of her mouth.

“Return.”

And that it did. The Molten Dragon returned to the Ruler’s World, momentarily sealed in space.

“Like I said, I came to check on something.” She turned to old man Gabriel. “I was also told to give you a final warning. We do not care what you think of us or how you view the past, but we do not wish to remove the Bastions from Razarn. But if you force us, we will retaliate–to protect the Union and what remains of mankind.”

Cynthia sighed. “Alas, your actions broke the Pact. Hence, I was sent to enforce justice. To punish the perpetrators.”

In an instant, the atmosphere changed. Cynthia’s arm blurred and a blue beam arced through the air.

Gabriel moved a fraction of a split second later, waving his arm to conjure a semi-translucent barrier to block the incoming attack, but the beam twisted instantaneously and moved around the barrier.

A roar rang out as the old man moved again, but his anger evaporated as Raffael’s scream rang out, blood spurting onto the ground. Raffael reached for his good arm–or where it should have been–but blood was all that remained, blue arcs zapping through the severely bleeding stump, worsening the bleeding by the second.

“This is but a warning. Removing the Essence of your arm is a generous punishment. Saphira is not that lucky,” Cynthia stated matter-of-factly, her body blurring out of existence as Gabriel moved to attack.

“Return his arm this instant!” the old man roared, but Cynthia, the Tigress of Dracos, was nowhere to be seen. She vanished as silently as she appeared. But her work had just begun.

***

War was never pretty. Never has been, never will be.

But Saphira enjoyed the last few months. As troublesome as the Fithar Alliance was, the massive population of Fija and Tarthon was actually perfect for her to test her new powers and to learn more about the limits of her Glacial Gates.

She had only managed to bind the Glacial Ether Gates of the first three Stages to her weave, but the last 3-Star Glacial Gate changed something fundamental within her.

Saphira felt stronger. Ice-attuned ether circulated through her veins, empowering her traits, and she was only growing stronger. Every tempered Glacial Gate augmented her power further. The blizzard unfolding before her on the battlefield was a testament to her might.

Her power instilled terror not only in the hearts of her relentless enemies but also in her allies. Her right-hand man was still by her side, his power surging in the freezing temperatures of the everlasting blizzard, yet the others avoided her. How could they not? Saphira was scary. Even before her power increased months ago, she had been a force that demanded respect–a might to fear.

And now she unleashed the power of the Tundra Behemoth upon her enemies. The Emperor resisted her even now, making it increasingly difficult to summon the Behemoth’s power, but that was only a small distraction. She had succeeded where Raffael Torch had failed, and she would not let a mere beast reject her. It might not like her now, but once the Tundra Behemoth realized how powerful they were together, it would surrender and comply.

Saphira was sure of it.

Skytrain-sized icicles whistled through the air, obliterating hundreds of Fija and Tarthon. Not even their Grandmasters could resist the power Saphira called upon. And she was not even trying.

“I am invincible!” she hollered, the excitement of unparalleled power filling her.

A shift in the space above her caught Saphira’s attention, and she spun around, activating the traits Sub-Zero, Infinite Ice, and Eternal Prison instinctively, expecting one of the Fija’s powers to attack. They had tried assassinating her before, using some of their secret Spatial Assassins, and they had nearly caught her.

As much as the unparalleled power pumping through her veins distracted her, Saphira was prepared to fight Rulers or even one of the Princes. But what emerged from the shift in space was something else entirely. A ghostly claw whipped through the air, shattering Saphira’s power instantly.

Stupefied, she released her traits once more, unleashing enough power through her core to squash even the most fortified Bastions, yet her power never came to life.

Instead, time around her stopped. Color drained from the surrounding worlds like a canvas drenched in black and white as a lone figure stepped onto the battlefield. White hair fluttered in the air, golden eyes piercing through the colorless canvas around her.

“Breaking the Pact comes at a price. A debt–one you will repay now.” An ethereal, seemingly divine voice thundered in Saphira’s head as panic settled in her marrow. Her heart raced, and she regained control of her body once more. Saphira spun around and shot away from the figure levitating above the battlefield like a god. She retrieved several objects from her spatial ring and shattered them right away, but it was to no avail.

Her life had been forfeited the moment she forced her World upon the Voice of the Frozen Spirit.

The world came crashing down upon Saphira. The power pumping through her veins was sucked out of her, and she tumbled to the ground. A moment later, color returned to the world.

A deafening roar reverberated across the battlefield, and the halo of a gargantuan white tiger painted the sky. It raised one paw and struck down, releasing beams that carved through the battlefield, marring the once-untouched ground with kilometer-long chasms.

Saphira was the epicenter of one of the chasms, the claw cleaving deep into her soul, shredding it apart–shredding her apart.

The White Tigress of Dracos landed softly beside the disintegrating form of Saphira, her face void of emotion.

“Your failure hurts me, brother,” Cynthia spoke coldly. “It is time to return to your family.”

Saphira’s fragmented World stirred and unraveled on command, a freezing cold oozing from the remains of her body as a creature hundreds of meters long and thousands of tons heavy emerged from the World–followed by all those the Ruler of Ice had imprisoned in the world of ice and terror.

The Tundra Behemoth did not even glance at Saphira. His bulbous, ocean-blue eyes lingered on his sister as the fleeing Soulkins turned on their Blessed. Hatred burned in their eyes, and it never faded–not even as they pounced on the Ruler of Ice’s remains, removing one of the tumors of the world.

“Has the Era of the End finally begun?” the Tundra Behemoth rumbled.

The White Tigress chuckled. “You’re still stuck on that nonsense?” She shook her head. “No, the end hasn’t come. This is but the beginning. The birth of the chaos we were promised.

“The Bastions shall fall.” The Tundra Behemoth rose to full size, turning to the ninth Bastion, the anger of betrayal and imprisonment still lingering in the air.

“The Pact was broken, but we are to return to Dracos. Not all hope is lost. Useful specimens have been located. It would be foolish to destroy our hard work now. Not after all we’ve sacrificed to unite them all.”