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Arc 8 Chapter CXV: The Sundering Of Apocrypha
🕑 Added 2025-04-12 00:48:47 +0000 UTC(Reyvin's POV)
Facing a great enemy, Auri-El's bow in hand and a particularly nasty improvised arrow loosed made me feel all kinds of nostalgic.
The surprise of the enemy, their imminent pain and the glorious song of a plan well executed.
Except I was not facing a rage dragon but someone who had planned around people far more experienced than I. Each breath felt an effort and each movement was akin to pushing through mud as his attention did not leave me excepting Ithelia's interference.
The only reason I had not skedaddled with Minthara in tow the moment I realized this was all far more difficult than I expected was the fact I had six Daedra on my side, five of whom were constantly pushing deeper into the mess Apocrypha now was and one who was directly aiding me by preventing Mora from simply crushing me.
Her power was not nearly as damaging when used indirectly, and carving a path even for someone as resistant to such manipulations as myself was something she was more than capable of doing without killing herself.
Hell, if I wasn't an out of context issue she would have probably already given me a dozen chances to stab the shit out of the tentacular bastard but such were our roles, not to mention the reassurance of the fact that me simply refusing to follow along would hit her with even greater backlash than when she redirected Mora's attacks.
The promise of mutual destruction made surprisingly trusting allies of the two of us.
A small part of me was quite delighted by the power I invariably held over her.
The much larger part decided I was being a massive cunt for even considering that in the current situation.
Arrogance upon arrogance, thine name is Reyvin.
All these thoughts passed through my mind in a flash as I released the dagger-turned-arrow, flinging the veritable nuke of murderous power straight into the centermost part of Mora's eldrich mass.
My precognition refused to work even now, so even Void's Blink couldn't ensure the arrow would kill him but it would certainly weaken hi-
Suddenly, a familiar feeling emanated from the Daedric Prince, one eerily similar to Ithelia's own aura as his massive nigh on incomprehensible form blurred away from the attack path, failing to dodge completely even as he turned the killing blow into a mere grievous wound.
The arrow struck him, and its power detonated in a flash of brilliant light, severing a good sixth of the mass of eyes and tentacles and causing an inhuman screech of pain out of the usually smug bastard, swiftly followed by another scream, one imperceptible to most.
It felt like someone had brought a shredder onto my mind, utterly uncaring for the fact it was under a dozen layers of protection as I felt my thoughts disappear under the assault, my precognition barely managing to even note the attack before a tentacle the size of a tower struck me across the back, once more sending me hurtling down into the inky surface of what remained of Apocrypha.
Feeling my spectral wings fall apart, I looked up and immediately decided I was the lucky one as another oily appendage struck out at Ithelia, cracking the side of her head and revealing a shining crystalline outline within, one that was swiftly covered with rampant energies as the heavily weakened Prince of Paths was grabbed, Mora's eyes glaring at her with hatred and rapidly gathering energy.
Quickly understanding that her death meant our defeat, I pushed through Mora's increased pressure on the local space, expending far too much Magicka as I appeared above the tentacle holding my ally, the Mortal's Razor finding its way into my hand as it conveniently fell off a dead piece of Mora floating uselessly alongside us.
Feeling another psychic blast incoming, I did not hesitate and stabbed down, cracking the limb below me and freeing Ithelia even as I felt the death beam focus in on me with another manipulation of fate.
Momentarily freezing as I felt the proverbial walls closing in, I allowed my Aedric Magicka to burst out, freeing me from the cold grip of death just swiftly enough to jump into the rapidly disintegrating limb.
But that moment of surprise would cost me dearly.
Just before I fully disappeared below Mora's freshest mangling, I saw a sea of deathly green approach me at lightspeed, hitting me right in the face and instantly removing my head, defenses be damned.
My true form shrunk back to my mortal body, my crown serving as a barely workable stopgap between me staying in the fight and immediate and absolute defeat, all the while my soul curled up on itself, an instinct more primal than that of survival nearly making me shut down as I unconsciously grabbed at my shroud, thankful for its presence.
Had it not been there, that one glare would have been the end of me.
Sadly, the master of Apocrypha was not quite so sporting as to let me think things over, the fact my thoughts were slow and sluggish failing to register as I created a levitation platform below me just as I was about to fall into the sea of ink currently lashing out at me with violent intent.
By the time I realized what was happening, ten seconds had already passed, and my precognition failed to warn me as the space I was occupying simply twisted in on itself.
Shit.
(General POV)
Hermaeus Mora held back a bout of (pained) triumphant laughter as he saw his enemy be shredded into pieces, his recently engorged paranoia making him narrow unnumbered eyes into a glare as he saw one of Mephala's legions pierce his defenses and rush to where he could just barely still feel the presence of the lesser divine soul of the elf.
He growled/gurgled and once more grasped the space below him, ignoring Ithelia's blind assault and swatting her away once again as he forced his gaze to look deeper and finally found what he was looking for.
The exact reason his 'role' was the most important of all his fellow Daedra.
He grabbed onto the tiniest particles known to him, and twisted.
Even as many of his eyes were permanently blinded by the ensuing detonation, he refused to look away for even a second.
He would have to find out why massive explosions tended to be mushroom shaped later.
Now, he had fools to end.
-
Minthara Septim stared at the explosion of light, utterly uncaring about pain even as she felt her reinforced eyes barely resisting the glaring swirl of colors, and nearly dropping Ithelia's twitching body as she felt the shockwave try and topple her.
Absently, she kicked a sneaking lurker in half and cut apart a couple dozen seekers approaching her with blades of air, never once looking away from the scene of destruction.
'That bastard probably has a plan in reserve anyway, he is too lazy to actually die.' She reassured herself, feeling distinctly emotionless as she simply dismissed what was going on in front of her and narrowed her eyes at her gloating enemy.
"You have any idea how to deal with him?" She asked the useless pile of glass in her grasp.
Ithelia twitched and Minthara felt her power flow for a moment before the body straightened and began levitating next to her "How damaged is he?" The freed Daedra asked.
Multiple rents crossed the floating mass of horrors, four large wounds dominating the sight as it bled rivers of ink into the seas below. It was obviously heavily wounded but nowhere near defeated and Minthara quickly relayed this to her ally of opportunity.
"We must grind him down before striking." Ithelia spoke, her power just enough to hide the two of them as Mora focused on ending her legions and destroying her way home.
Feeling distinctly unimpressed, the future Empress scoffed "And how do you plan on doing that?" She drawled sarcastically.
Ithelia's flickering eyes turned to face her "What ever made you think we would be the ones to do it?"
And as if prophesized the legions of the five Daedra on their side finally broke through Mora's defenses, thousands upon thousands of Dremora of all kinds and forms bursting through the faltering lines of seeker abominations with fanatical glee in their eyes and irritatingly repetitive taunts on their lips.
The few puppets of Mora still standing rushed to aid their master even as the quintet, or quartet as Mephala was currently far too focused on something else, began manifesting their direct powers through their followers.
The strikes of the Dremora became far more proficient and destructive as they targeted both Mora and his own armies, their spells bombarding the great mass of bleeding tentacles, and the space of the realm turning distinctly funny and being thoroughly ripped from Mora's control.
Minthara nearly began pacing as she allowed half of her focus to fall on the still shuddering tower of ash still hovering above Reyvin's last location but just before she could begin overthinking things, Ithelia's voice dragged her back.
"Now." The slowly healing Prince of Paths barked "Strike hard and strike fast!"
She did not need to be told twice.
-
Ithelia watched the child of Anu order the world to bring her to flight with an oddly nostalgic expression, feeling the young one's entire demeanor was rather close to some of her own mortal champions once upon a time.
Unaware of her interference as they were.
She shook her head at the moment of reminisce and looked upon the path to Mora's end one last time. She frowned, hesitated for but a moment, before the raging flame of hatred made her decision for her and she drew upon all the power she could muster.
No fate or path did she gather but a simple destructive charged to the brim with her domains.
Mora's reaction was as immediate as it was useless, the disgusting thing posing as something greater slaying another thousand Dremora even as he assaulted Ithelia's mind with visions that would have broken any mortal that caught even a glimpse of them.
But her attack was already launched, and had landed even before such a mortal act.
The Prince, imprisoned or eons and denied freedom at the last moment, simply smiled as she felt herself be struck down by yet another grand explosion of light, failing to so much as twitch in reaction as her spear passed through Mora without a hint of resistance.
And opened the many paths the Woodland Man had stitched close within himself.
For why else would a creature so proud keep a form so vile if not to contain that which was not his by right?
Ithelia was after all, but the last in a very long line of those who drew the eyes of the Old One.
And, what she knew to be her final thoughts assured, she would be the last.
-
Minthara didn't even blink as she felt another explosion overtake Ithelia, the Daedra's existence or its end not even registering to her mind as she backhanded a betentacled Daedroth into mush.
The crystalline spear the Prince of Paths had launched had done... something to Mora, his powers growing visibly less controlled and his words turning to an incomprehensible slur as thousands upon thousands of voices spoke over each other.
She saw a unit of Dremora mages blast one of his flanks with a curse, and watched with growing confusion as parts of Mora simply fell off, still wriggling and moving even as they consumed their assailants alive.
She did not hesitate further, riding the whirlwind and appearing right next to the creatures before bathing them in golden flames, feeling the pinpricks of agony that were their minds disappear under her 'Father's' power.
The Daedric legions also noticed that something was happening, and began bombarding Mora's unguarded form as he battled his own consciousness in an attempt to reassert himself, shedding thousands of disgusting little critters who rampaged through their attackers with reckless abandon.
Minthara did not care for friendly fire as she simply destroyed every single one of them, barely managing to outpace their growing influence on her mind.
Mora's attacks were directed, powerful but guided only by one will.
These things felt like worms trying to burrow into her psyche, and getting rid of them felt just as irritating.
"Failure." The chittering voices uselessly tried asserting as she crushed them beneath her heels.
A blob of eyes glared at her as she impaled it "Puppet."
"Pet." Another trio hissed at her even as they were incinerated.
Each and every statement was followed by uncontrollable visions, each alluding to a doubt that even the smallest parts of her still held no matter her confidence or her understanding of the truth.
And then, just as she was about to focus on Mora's shedding true form, she heard a much larger one growl just next to her "Convenience."
Images and thoughts of her simply being dragged along because of her power and lineage, the understanding that all her connections came to be simply because of how useful she could be and not because of her. The idea that the only reason she was with whom she was-
"Will you just" She growled as she pulverized the cretin whispering filth to her "SHUT. THE FUCK. UP!?"
Her voice cracked through the air, utterly ruining all the fragments surrounding her and somehow managing to silence the overeager Dremora warriors who now looked at her with fear clear in their eyes.
She almost felt smug, a moment before her gaze found Mora who had stopped twitching.
"Thanksss." The floating Daedra slurp/hissed "They were getting rather loud."
Before she could react, she felt the space around her twisting, and readied a shout in desperation.
She did not notice in her state of focus, the slightest flicker in the closest cloud of ash.
(Reyvin's POV)
Consciousness was difficult when one was an amorphous blob of ash currently getting dragged all over the place by what I could swear was nuclear fallout but magic.
It was doubly so when their soul was curled up in the metaphorical corner and crying in pain and fear.
Why it was so difficult that the constant pull of Red Mountain was feeling like an increasingly tempting prospect, even if I knew accepting it would be stranding my gods damned wife in literal tentacle hell!
That tiny realization helped me drag myself together somewhat, just closely enough to feel the flickering golden flame in my proverbial heart stabilize, the intent of it consciousness failing to translate into words even as I felt the distinct disappointment of Scorch's unamused gaze.
Still it was not enough to make me return to form, my will feeling too scattered to recconnect in truth.
But then I felt it, in the distance yet also right next to me, a spider web aiming to envelop as much of me as possible and protectively drag me with it, leaving behind the battle and ensuring my safety no matter what.
My instincts screamed at me and I slowly felt my sense of self returning as one simple declaration made itself abundantly clear in my mind.
I was not letting myself be 'rescued' by Mephala!
The fear of never living things down gave me just enough of a push that I could hear Scorch chirping a delighted 'Fucking finally!' into my mind and feel him push with his healing aura, connecting the two of us as I began rapidly reforming in my true form.
But he did not stop there.
Oh no, I felt him use his usual 'final fuck you' but this time instead of blowing himself up he infused me with his power, imbuing the grey flames of my form with flecks of gold and rebuilding the wings I had not even realized were cursed by Mora.
Grinning to myself, and feeling a distinct curiosity about the taste of the aforementioned Daedra's eyes, I grabbed Blasphemy, and moved.
(General POV)
"SPAAN STRUNMAH TIID!" Minthara roared as the space around her tried shredding her into tiny fragments, the small section of Apocrypha trying to swallow her whole rebounding off her and giving her the chance to glare up at her hated foe "KREN SLEN SOS!"
The rend flesh shout struck the wriggling Old One's flank, shearing another thousand creatures off him as he moved to evade.
Mora growled at the increasing loss of power, even as it allowed him greater control of himself, and was just about to begin defeating his assailants in detail, starting with Dagon and moving through his enemies weakest to strongest.
But a certain elf had other plans, and far faster than Mora could react, he appeared right in front of him, the blur of gold barely catching Mora's remaining sea of eyes before he once more found himself impaled.
The elf looked like he was about to finish his attack but made the mistake of meeting one of the Daedra's gazes and immediately felt his mind be invaded.
Mora used all of his mental power to speed up his perception of time as he burrowed deeper and deeper into Reyvin's mind, intent on destroying his foe's consciousness utterly but hesitating as he noticed something odd.
Sights beyond anything he had ever seen greeted him as he found memories that did not belong to a twenty one year old. He perceived a world that was not Nirn, and was not of Anu or Padomay, and found it filled with wonders he could not even imagine, even the mundanity of it all tickled the one true passion within the Old One's soul.
Suddenly forgetting the life and death situation he was in, he greedily delved deeper and deeper into the string of memories, nearly noticing the reference to the dream itself as he burrowed into the final moments of the memories' lifetime.
And then he saw it.
A creature so far beyond all he had ever seen it was not even funny.
A creature that could create and destroy worlds on a whim.
A creature... that was currently staring directly at him.
He who declared himself to be Robert raised a singular eyebrow as he peered through time as easily as one does through a pair of spectacles, and merely shook his head [Naughty, naughty.]
Mora felt his grasp on his own self begin o unravel and taken by a sudden burst of terror began retreating as quickly as he possibly could, and to his surprise the great creature he had dared look upon did not bother chasing him.
Not that, as he soon found, he would have needed to.
Mora's consciousness slammed back into his own body as he blinked, just in time to see the elf's form flicker as he grasped onto his glaive that much harder and growled "WULD NAH KEST!"
In a burst of speed and power, Mora was sheared in twain, no longer bleeding ink but outright shedding parts of himself as he desperately tried fighting back, the shock of what he had seen preventing him from truly focusing on the battle even as he felt himself fall below the threshold of victory.
The child of Akatosh did not hesitate to hunt down his fragments, and what he had learned to be the inheritor of Lorkhan kept cutting into him with all the mercy of a particularly angry Balite.
Soon, Mora could barely feel his own sense of self as he tried one last pitiful time to blast the elf apart, only to be avoided by a careless teleport and feel the agony of yet another cut upon his remaining flesh.
And then, blissfully, he felt the last pieces of himself fall apart, drawing his consciousness in all directions even as his ego still remained. He decided then to flee, preserve at least a fragment of his being and grow in power once again.
But the elf pursued him with a newfound doggedness, and Mora swiftly realized that he had seen something he really shouldn't have.
The last thing he saw as he desperately commanded his realm to collapse upon itself was the elf raising his dagger, and a sea of cursed blades rushing after every. single. one. of his fragments.
And then... blissful oblivion.
(General POV)
Above a now cooling pool of ink that seemed to know neither beginning nor end, a grey-skinned figure floated with a thoughtful look on her face.
The moment Apocrypha was brought low, Mephala's memories of Ithelia had returned, and she understood implicitly the threat she represented now that the only other Daedra capable of manipulating fate had been ripped apart by her and her allies.
The aspect of forbidden knowledge was rather delicious, she would have to admit, even if eating the fragment of her fellow Old One was not what she expected this Kalpa.
Oh well, he played the game, and won the prize. Who was she to contest that fact?
She looked down into the pool of ink and considered, scrying the events of the past few hours while tracking her blessing's way.
Suddenly she stilled, her smirk turning brittle as she observed Reyvin's meeting with Ithelia. Her gaze slowly grew manic as a far too wide grin spread on her face, the act she observed tickling a certain part of her vast soul so much she nearly lost control of her power.
"Oh you are a gift that just keeps on giving~" She purred hungrily before forcing it all down and returning her expression to a placid and satisfied smirk. She looked down once again and nodded "It would be such a waste to simply remove her now..." She tilted her head and grabbed something under the ink "I am sure dear Azura will understand."
Mephala pulled, and out of the sea of ink came the broken but living form of Ithelia. The Webweaver's expression grew hungry once more as she whispered "Oh you and I are going to have so much fun together~."
Comments
Hakkira
Thank you kindly for the chapter 😁
Nazarickk
Thanks for the chapter
