[PK] Apotheosis Incident Arc: Athna's Rest

[DahStalker 3692]

Spoiler

 Jujutsu Kaisen Season 2 - Opening FULL "Ao No Sumika" by Tatsuya Kitani (Lyrics) (youtube.com)

An Athna’s Rest

Lady Hillith Athna,

Hillside of Luxem, Arcas.

 

“In ages past, when shadows loomed,

Gudour rose with darkness consumed,

But Paladins, with courage pure,

Faced the dragon, hearts secure.

 

With Sword of Horen, chaos sown,

Yet Paladins stood, undaunted, unbeknown,

They battled fierce, they fought the night,

Restored the balance with valour bright.

 

Now Gudour sleeps 'neath starlit sky,

Thanks to Paladins who dared defy,

Their legend echoes, forevermore,

Of bravery true in Order's war.”

__________

 

 

Hymns to be chanted, poetry to be spewed. Hillith had yet to know the impact that would come once Gudour would be laid to rest. 

She knew well the consequence of serving Order, the endless oath to death. Her blood was evidence of such unyielding bond as it kissed the desert sands below, awakening an aged Chancery at the behest of the Sage of Khamees. They were to slaughter the very same Draakar which caused the corruption of Sol Invicta, distant relative, and daughter of Xan. A twisted fate of fury similar to her own, all as a result of the Dragonkin and their ambition. 

 

Hillith seethed as she stood before the blazing cavern of that ancient foe, filled into the space alongside fellow Luxemites, and other chapters, watching as the beast flailed the Sword of Horen, slicing into flesh and bone ruthlessly of those unfortunate few who neared too close in their foolish bravery. Within the lair of the beast the reverbarum of Order’s souls flared, visible in their display of varying hues: gold, silver, and emerald. 

 

Hillith’s Bane embraced her right hand, a gauntlet forged from steel and carbarum, settled with a multitude of lightstone fragments. As she approached the platform with the sword bestowed unto her by that cursed Amethil, she released a series of flexio prayers, manifesting before her six plumes of aureate mists, soon taking the shape of the very same weapon her gauntlet grasp. With a bellowed scream of fury, that woman sent those Xannic-weapons toward the dragon, causing him to collapse under the pressure of her strike.

 

Before she knew it the party and herself engaged in hours of endless combat, slicing through the foe and scale of the wretched dragon-born, claiming victory to the night. Hillith, raged alongside her brethren as she seized the day with them in tow. She felt the pride of her lineage, the might of her Lord, and she would see this done. To rescue Zyanna Athna, her ancestor, and predecessor. 

 

However, as the fate of Gudour was secured, and the Crusaders of Xan raced to the top of the Ivory Tower and its rubble, they found only an abnormal insignia and debris of ash, the last act of defiance - and a new reality for the group, from all their past triumph.

 

Had they failed?

 

They had failed.

 

It had only been moments after the sudden arrival of another entity that her Lord had fallen, releasing its anonymous honk into the air akin to that of the mortal goose. Within seconds, that Aengul whom her blood was bound to fell, torn away in sparks of aureate and ethereal mists by the unforgiving maws of Azdromoth, pulled apart in vicious bites as greed consumed the air. That was the first time she had truly felt the dreadful strings of damnation gnawing at her soul, clung to its essence as it pulled apart her boon from within, stripping it of its integrity in replacement of something much more sinister: a foreign evil that she knew too well from years of defiance. The touch of the Titan.

 

How could they have failed? Could such a feat to such drastic measure be possible? It wasn’t like the times before, where they falter on victory against battle, and adjustment in planning could be the saving grace for the next confrontation. They had truly lost the war. Emptiness did not fill her soul as it was tarnished, a boiling fury and misery erupted from its core, threatening the balance of her mentality and psyche. The wrath of Asioth consumed her, forever changing her with its reminiscent scar. 

 

"No.... no..  -- What have we done?”

 

Spoiler

Jujutsu Kaisen Episode 17 - Sad Theme (HQ Cover) (youtube.com)

 

The manifestation of Tahariae’s portal had been their only saviour.

 

Havoc ravaged the dwindling keep of the aforementioned Paladins, now truly lacklustre in their unity as they no longer needed to heed the servitude of their Lord, as seen in the unhinged chaos which followed suit. They filled the suffocating space of that soon to be isolated keep, panicked as the groupings sought to understand the gravity of what had just occurred. Scorned Paladins stood shell-shocked, some wept, and others drifted away silently - never to be seen again. In that chaotic frenzy Hillith found herself gazing onto that old mentor of hers as he stood perched atop a staircase, visor positioned as hidden behind its metallic facade was a likely vacant stare. 

 

That shallow thud of her racing heart filled her ears, behind that helmet of her own as she pivoted, trying to find any other familiar face. She had no reason for this venture, but she no longer had purpose either. As if fate itself had a morbid way of mockery she caught sight of two acquainted Luxemites afar: Tilruir’tir and Jack. Yet as she approached in her unsteady gait, it came clear that without the boon from their Lord, Jack was deteriorating - and at an unimaginable pace. 

 

Before she knew it a small group of those familiar with the Seeker gathered outside of the keep, away from the bustle of grief and horror, on a cliffside overlooking the waters. In the distance the horizon began to set, and the Queen’s Dawn idled in the waters afar. 

 

They mourned, the withering body of Jack supported by both her own efforts and Tilruir’s, holding him upright so he could look upon the faces of those he cherished before he would finally be freed of his imprisonment to their Lord, left to escape the torment of his forced servitude. She knew in time, whether it be twenty years, spare few more, or less - she too would join him, for her mortality weighed down on her heavily. 

 

"Forrgive me. I have failed you, I have failed my lineage, and I have failed the mortal-kin.” Hillith spoke, chest heaving as she lifted clad fingers to revoke her helmet. Tears swam in her eyes, for once the stoic exterior broke away in a mixture of grief and despair. She would watch Jack die, just as she had her Lord. She had failed so many, and yet he lay there before her with a smile traced on his lips. 

 

"The grandchild I never had. Thank you for accompanying this old man on his many adventures. You hold on to my legacy, a staff that has been used since Asulon.”  Jack ushered, looking at that woman as he confessed his familial love for her. And with his final words to her, he had given both words of advice and one wish.  “Athna’s are but a footnote… I just have one wish, that you will give the staff to those that I would deem worthy. It’s no longer Xan’s relic, but mine after all.” She would be left in charge of the fate of the Athna’s beyond Xan, returned to a time where their legacy lived without his mortal interference, and to pass on an heirloom that had been cherished by both her and the Order throughout the ages.

 

 

 Hillith could not will herself to stay for the burial of Jack’s body, for his formal funeral. The curse of rage within her family’s legacy had finally unfurled itself, mixing with the feeling of sudden doom. Time was of the essence, and she yearned for a sense of revenge - a sense of direction and purpose. She knew then as she plucked her blade from the wet earth below from the raging downpour what she would yield herself to do. 

She would fight the An-Gho.

 

She had found herself back to the point it had started, the point where her Lord had fallen, now a ruin of ash and death. Once she had found herself face-to-face with the An-Gho, few followers gathered with the pair perched atop the hillside of a volcano, eyes locked. Both they wielded their weapons: one ablaze with ash, the other inert where Xannic mists once blessed it. 

 

"What is a Man, Hillith?”

 

"You ask me to define Man? He who forfeits his humanity?” The scorned Paladin had queried, hatred filling her heart. She harnessed all focus onto that sword within her grasp, soft utters of flexio allowing it to come to life, as they stood atop boulders, hungry flames below reaching for their feet. 

 

From afar Azdromoth’s Justicar stood and watched the duo engage in their conflict, remaining as a mediary between the both of them as pitch black flames licked at his scales. Golden eyes not daring to waver away from the fight. The An-Gho drew his clawed fingers over the pommel of his greatsword, drawing it as ash and smoke spilled from its scabbard. The edge of the sword bearing no reflection, it becoming poised before that wise being. “What is a Man? A scream in the dark?” 

 

"Man is soul, Man is heart.” The cursed woman spoke, features once kissed with the aureate markings of her lineage now tainted with Asioth-scripture that lined the flesh of her aged body. Both, the pair angled their weaponry in front of one another: an essence of one victor and the latter of failure. 

 

"And you?” 

 

The pair kept their gazes as soon they began to approach one another, cutting down that space in between them both.“I am His Crusader, His loyal servant. I am Man and Acolyte.” 

 

It was then with the flash of a swiping sword, the An-Gho approached in his attack, “What do you see?” He queried, voice like pooling flames.“Nothing.” 

 

"I see a slave, bound by hopelessness.” It was then with a slice toward her knee she raised her blade to parry it, though partially did that sword make its cut, blood profusely spilling from chainmail and plate. She pressed on, own sword aiming to make its own cut in exchange. The pair both pressed further up on the slope of a boulder in absentminded steps. “And I see Greed. Your Greed has slaughtered us.”

 

Hillith’s blade met with the An-Gho’s torso in a vicious swipe, allowing blood to flow free from the gruesome wound.  “I am already dead. And yet. I am alive, Hillith. He brought his sword back up to hers, grinding against it as to heave the woman’s weaponry away from his frame once more. ”I am more than alive…” He seethed.

 

"You’ve created a paradise of Chaos, where Order cannot exist. You’ve allowed yourself to become a pawn of folley-play.” The Crusader shouted, voice wavering with slight tremor at her growing emotion. With a heavy foot planted to the volcanic rock below she swiped the An-Gho and his blade away from a more lethal strike aimed at her mass, allowing it to skid across her right pauldon until it nestled in the weak-point of her shoulder, resulting in a pained exhale. She pushed on, though every strike rendered her more sluggish - withered frame not as mighty without the blessing of Xan in her elderly age. 

 

Swords clashed and sparks flew, the An-Gho flexed his sword to meet Hillith’s own once more. “This slave realises his place. What of you, Hillith?” He wondered as he pressed her further, ashes drifting from his form. “And Chaos?” He mused. “Chaos has been mended. Thesis and Antithesis. Light and Dark. Chaos - and Order, made into one.” He snapped, eyes locked onto the Athna. “I am Order.” Their blades met with a shriek of steel. "And you?" He asked. “Nothing.” He said in a voice as soft as butter. 

 

Hillith’s hair smouldered near the ends as it flew free from its previous style by the sheer heat that surrounded them, laboured swings continuing as she recoiled further into the hillside with his pursuit. “We are both Nothing. We are both equal in death, both tainted by this Corruption which consumes our souls now. At soul I am broken, deprived of my humanity by the cursed touch of your Master. In heart, I am a Crusader of Order, much like my brethren.” She continued her approach, the two nearer the tallest peak within that pool of lava. “I do not belong without my Lord, but they shall persist. As true Order will endure. Your fantasies are short-lived, much like in the past. Your ilk are prone to short-lived victories. My battle has been lost, but soon you shall see. Order shall endure, for you are wrong.”

 

"Order is, Hillith. victorious - shining, burning.” The An-Gho paced after that woman once more, blade raised. “And now, it has no need for you. True order? You stare upon it.” Hillith poised her blade once more, whipping it out toward the figure once he was near enough. She directed the strike to the collar of the An-Gho, her feet sturdy in their backpedal as to ensure she followed his gait throughout their engagement. 

 

"You are ignorant, like a child. This very trait will damn you, and it will damn this realm. You shall be the Maker of Death, An-Gho. You foolish creature, I pity you.”

 

"Damned? The An-Gho mused, sword bit against his own as it profusely released ash from its blade. He made an effort to thrust it toward her in hopes of pushing that woman back. “Oh, but Hillith.” He said. “I am already saved.” 

 

Hillith, born of Sabet, nearly stumbled as she became increasingly drained by her lack of boon. Her widened eyes were licked with the essence of fury, illuminated by that constant glow of those ebony markings which kissed her features - once aureate, now tainted with crude Asioth-etchings. “Saved? You believe yourself to be liberated? You are no better than the drones of Iblees, the very ones who trapped your beloved Master. You, so clueless, so ignorant — responsible for death and chaos. You took the guardian of Order and destroyed Him. You deprived generations from the paradise of true Order.”

 

"What makes a thing true, Hillith? Your idea of it? Of a choking, vicious order? The one which rejects?” The An-Gho smiled as he readied his sword like some serpent. “But no Hillith. I am not liberated. I have none of your fantasies. I am a slave. I am Powerless. No. In the end there is only the primaeval echo of an ancient crucible, of a life in which all was one: Darkness, Light,  Suffering, Terror, and Love.” He breathed, as if truly tasting the sweet nectar of his victory for the first time. “Now, we return, one step closer.”

 

It enraged the woman, that disgusting coating her veins as she nearly trembled from it. Her sword swung toward the torso of that Azdrazi once more, motions unhinged with her emotional despair. She was whittled to nothing: broken and exposed. “They cannot, An-Gho.” She scowled in her fury.  “Light and Darkness must both exist, but never in unity. It is the natural way. The way in which Order deems it. The way the Lord sees fit. You step closer to the unveiling of an Age full only of sorrows.”

 

"Order? Order deems it otherwise. And God?” He laughed like a rattling lantern. God is, and was - all things. Suffering, Joy, Blood, Fire, Light, Darkness.” He backpedalled, sword striking air before his own followed after - going to stroke over at her own gauntleted left hand with the advantage of his greatsword. 

 

Hillith of Sabet’s digits sprayed with the outlash of blood, followed by the removal of her ring-finger and pinky. She’d heave out a miserable breath, attempting to take claim to the shoulder opposite of her sword-hand, muscles in a fit of uncontrollable tremors from the exertion. “And yet - GOD is dead. Much like how his domain had ended, resulting in death and Chaos from his ilk. You continue to fuel the same suffering. Xan brought us Order, he brought what was needed into the fold. You enacted its undoing.” Her eyes flickered to that Third Eye upon the An-Gho’s temple, speaking to He who watched through it.  “Greed has damned us. It has killed many, it has accursed my own ilk to suffering, deprived me of my son, and it will cause the end of this very realm. We are doomed.”

 

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7hkI43oPIxk

 

 

Was it death that made her so disillusioned? The claws of decay themselves clinging to her very soul as they began to tear her apart from within, taking with them every factor of what remained to the depths of Ebrietas. She had lived for centuries, duty-bound by a path bestowed unto her lineage by their might for the sake of Light against Darkness, for Order. Yet, alas, she stood before the An-Gho not in a moment of decisive fate, but a destined one. She would die, she knew this much - that this battle was partially decided in vain. It is what was expected of her, what was expected of her dynasty, for she bore the blood of Xan. It was she who was meant to shepherd those of similar path, as any Athna had in the past, for they stood as the Prophet of their Lord. Though her legacy was not of that greatness, nor was it of failure. Hillith wondered however, if her life was truly fulfilled. Had she truly lived? What did she live for?

 

"It is not Greed, Hillith.” The An-Gho hissed, awakening her partially out of that dazed state of hers. Was she finally dying? He stepped after her, and his blade flourished. “It is love.” He knew not of love. For how could he? Love, love was her children. Love was Harlan, he who first exposed her to that feeling; Love was Rylan, he who stood at her side; Love was Manfred, he who understood her; Love was Hengest; who bore a family with her. “A desire for union. God lives, Hillith. God lives in all places. Why else should flowers bloom? Why else, should blood stain this sword?” That serpent raised his blade once more, meeting with her own. Flaxen-coloured hair swept forth around her features as Hillith pressed back, eyes sealed on the scale-kissed features of her nemesis. She recalled her children: Herath, Halvar, and Heloisa. She could have laid her sword down, committed herself to being a Mother, and yet she neglected them. She forced them down the same destructive path as her own, without nurture nor care, and it destroyed them. Would she have been happy? She would’ve even taken in Hengest’s eldest Elke, cared for him as her own, if she truly knew how to love as a mother. She yearned for her own, to be sheltered away from the harsh realities of life as she should have been in her youth. 

 

Hillith of Sabet’s fury finally exploded, causing her to become further deranged in her attacks. Her sword clashed, sparks erupting as their blades met. “You insolent creature.” She had always been loyal to the Order, to the natural methodology of it. In Darkness, Light would be found. Light must conquer the darkness, those who are born remain in their destined hierarchy. Yet, Greed would always find a way to battle against it, to try and consume that light that was cradled by the kiss of Order itself. “Order shall find you. The brethren of Xan linger, they will find you. What you reaped shall be paid back in your demise. Your Master shall see soon. The depravity of water and sunlight, shackled away by chain and hot iron at the youthful age of five. She recalled it well, choking on the smog of molten flame as they sought to confine her to a fate of kinslaying. He imprisoned her spirit in an unyielding hatred, forcing her away from family - tarnishing a bound between daughter and father forevermore. Eyes of azure, much like her own, she recalled them of that babe who would’ve been her brother. She knew not of him, and she failed in his rescue. That Titan of white draping locks, sat atop of a throne of obsidian as he once hid. He beckoned her by Lady Athna, taunted her, as that child wept for mother and father. Why?  “I despise you.”

 

The An-Gho pushed in his pursuits, eyes glowering ‘neathe the starlight above, where the constellation of Order rested. “What Order is there but the one of my Father?” He queried, clambering after her. “What Order is there that can stand alone? What life is there, what death is there, that stands alone?” XHer life was intertwined with others, she had impacted them as much as they impacted her. Had she made the right decision? To bind three to the same path as her. Joseph, Mira, Blanca. Was she just in her decision? She knew of what Jack endured, what hypocrisy her Lord dabbled in. But, it was for his ambitions, those which she cherished. That others alongside herself fought for. To protect their kin, to protect Kingdoms, to protect their home, as any would.  “Nothing in this world - Hillith. Nothing stands alone. And this, for this - blood trickles, and a flower of fire blossoms.” She grew tired.

 

The Lady Crusader raised her sword with laboured breaths, swiping it towards his frame once more. She was steeled in her efforts, moisture lining her temples as aged joints ached with the yearning for rest.“You are delusional, and you are unredeemable. True Order is the foundation, you’ve sought to shatter it by ridding of its Guardian.” Others would carry on the efforts, even with the vanquish of Order’s guardians. Aer’dir, Rhaelunthur, Magnus, Tarathiel, Tilruir’ir, Blanca, and many more. Those who had passed would be avenged by their loved ones. Although they lacked unity, she knew the might of Horen’s sons: The Church of Canon, the Templars, and their units. They would fight for their homeland, fight for the Order which she and many other brethren fought for.  “It shall persist, you will not win.”

 

"Truth?” He mused, sword clashing with hers once more as Hillith’s blade passed overhead and knocked against one of his horns. But he continued, trailing after her with smoke drifting about his frame. “Truth is a word, Hillith.” She felt as if the Light embraced her, vision briefly blurry with the imagery of Paladins of yore, those who she read of, those who she knew. They reached for her in the distance, calling for the guidance of her bloodline, for the glaring zeal of their Lord. Was she alive? 

 

"Is this it? Throughout the heavens and the realm, I alone am the honoured one. To have realised, to have been graced with this cursed lineage.” Lady Athna beckoned above, staring at the An-Gho as smog suffocated her lungs, she brought her blade out once more with a dazzling display of metallic spark. It should’ve been kissed by gold and sapphire. “I will continue this out - remember my words, An-Gho. It matters naught if you value them. Words have purpose, they’ve as much power as action.” 

 

"Words have shaped armies. Words have killed Gods.” A dark sword eclipsed, similar to that of the night sky above. 

 

"And yet you undermine Truth? Foolishness.”

 

"The one who convinces the nature of truth, can move divinity itself. The An-Gho rumbled. “In the end, it is a word. A word within a world of contradiction, of paradox. A world in which God is both living and dead.”

 

Hillith of Sabet’s chest heaved in despair as that woman went to dive her blade inward so they might meet a single time more. Equal pressure was applied, her stance dipping inward to exert the rest of her strength into a devastating blow. “It is absurdity which you claim.” She’d speak aloud, fury turning into defeat, evidence of an exhausted woman - her tale meaning to end. She’d pivot her blade, aiming to make a final mark. 

 

"The world is absurd. As are we.” The other before her whispered. He was taunting her. His sword went to meet her own in some gruesome overheard swing, eyes brilliant in the darkness as they quarrel above the lake of fire. Ashes rose from the flames beneath them - the Third Eye gleamed. 

 

She regretted the way she lived but would not change it. This was the path she was destined for. If she were to be damned to the torment of Ebrietas for eternity, having lived through it similarly in the mortal-realm too, she would make that sacrifice every time. It was her obligation. Yet, she could not help to brood on a stark reality now. What of the future? “We are truly damned, aren’t we?” 

 

"There is God in all places.” Went the An-Gho as their blades grated and sparks flew. “Even in the damned. Even in the shadows. Even in memory.” His sword curved its blade, going to drive hers down as he ascended just before her - and went to plant its edge through the folds of plate into a hectic thrust.  “There is only God.” Words like murder. Words like sin. Words like truth - whatever that means. 

 

Hillith of Sabet watched as that sword embedded in her torso, piercing through plate, flesh, and bone. She spat up a spew of blood as she focused on her breathing, blue eyes casting across the flame in familiar memory as she pondered on her life, of her regrets. With a soft inhale she gazed upright, staring to the sky as Xan’s mark glittered in a display of stars, forever making claim to evidence of his existence. Evidence of her own.

Spoiler

 

 

 It was a familiar sight. 

 

 She felt the grass in between her toes within her approach, folds of white cloth trailing behind her in youthful gait. Flesh no longer wrinkled; hair no longer grey as it bounced with its dismay of various golden curls. Before her stood an elder tree with wise limbs stretched to the heavens, their bark graced with ivory exterior as leaves swayed above in the breeze. At random a few petals cascaded to the floor below, pooling into the rushing waters that fell over the hillside of that ethereal peak. She could not remember exactly where this was, but she knew it well: the scent of it, sight of it, noise of it. Pure tranquility. In the background a soft chant repeating itself in the gentle wind. Was that her voice? 

 

"Exaudi orationem meam, sicut habes in saecula. Tibi adhuc subsisto, et mea linea ut lubet perseveret.”

 

Her arms felt themselves reaching outwards as the sensation kissed her skin, true bliss erupting from within. She felt the freedom course through her, head tilted back as she spun with the throttle of laughter escaping parted lips. Hillith smiled, its honesty reaching her eyes as she allowed her skirts to kick upright in a flourish, dragged by her as she nearly pranced. It was then she felt the true difference, halting in her dance as she looked afar to the imagery ahead, pure brilliance. It was her kin. Sarah, Azael, Hilan, Zyanna, all of them. She saw her son, Herath. She saw her brothers, her dynasty. And before her that tree throbbed with life, buds blossoming into flowers as the Athna dragged herself forth, slowly kneeling before it. She felt those around her, palms graced to her back in support, and she breathed, then wept. 

 

"Hear me Father, Hear me Lord, for I have served you loyally.”

 

Her nails dug into the dirt below, grounding herself as tears filled her gaze. She was imprisoned by this loyalty, as much as Azdromoth and his kin imprisoned her in this life of hatred. She wanted freedom, to live the rest of her life happily within the domain of sweet bliss called death. She yearned for it and pleaded for rest. Had she served enough? Had she done enough? What was it all for? She knew, or perhaps she truly did not. She had broken the promise to Jack, she passed on his staff, but what of her lineage beyond her? Had they died out with her and her children? But, as that woman lifted her chin to gaze at the insignia of a lion embedded in bark, she uttered her last words, for Him. 

 

"I am Hillith Athna, your Loyal Commander, your Loyal Servant. My line has served you, our debts are paid.” 

 

 The An-Gho watched solemnly. 

 

As that son of Titan, once Man, watched the Crusader yell to the skies in her final words, he saw the blood drain from her body. The floor below released puffs of smoke as it hungrily drank at the ichor, heat causing it to dissipate with first touch. They knew not each other's story, but they were destined to their tales, made to fight for their own realities of Order. As the sun eclipsed away into shadows, embalmed with a sickening red hue he gazes unto her, head slowly tilting forth as her life was taken - the fantasies of her afterlife only the fragment of life clinging on in its false and broken hope, providing her rest before Ebrietas would claim the fallen Athna, forever without solace.

 

Then, with a softness to his tone, he queried:

“What is a Woman?” 

Spoiler

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

"I shall exist in both darkness and light.”

 

Somewhere in a realm afar a woman with clad digits slowly trained her crossbow onto a twisting figure of red-flesh, mutated muscle churning with its devil-like horns stuck out from its skull. It slowly tore into the carcass of a woman, once cattle, now a feast. It had stolen her from the farms of blood-sucking beasts, who raised sons of Horen akin to farm animals, devouring them at their own leisure. Her brows knit together with focus; blue eyes stark as she released a soft exhale.

 

 She blended against the treeline, dressed in dark cloth and treated leather as she felt herself kneel into position. It was then that woman, of mixed lineage: of light and darkness, readied herself. Cornered by five demon-spawn a child wept loudly as his leg was wounded, watching as those monsters shredded flesh and tissue from the bones of his mother, chest heaving with audible sobs of yearning.

 

That woman was no hero, she was no Crusader, traitor of her lineage. She knew not of the Order instilled in her dynasty, knew not of the feats of her ancestors. But she knew of the natural Order in which she lived and felt no true obligation to shepherd it. As a finger pressed against the trigger of her crossbow - which felt right in her hands - a bolt was sent flying. 

 

Hours later, as the demons dispersed. A scene was left for any who dared linger in the depths of Karkosa still. The mauled corpses of a mother and son, yet one lay with a bolt embedded in his skull. 

 

Spoiler

I’ve cooked this narrative for 7 years, and I shall dare not go into a huge paragraph. I’ll be here forever. I have played Hillith since I was about fifteen/sixteen, and she is both my biggest regret and biggest accomplishment. Her ideals grew alongside mine as I learned more of the world, and the depth of its reality and emotions alongside her. I am forever grateful to those who have contributed to her story, and I am honoured to have had the opportunity to flesh out her story with the credit of many players, friends, ET, and more. Thank you. 

 

---

 

 

[Pancho 4197]

As Cerrick Fenifaer stood upon the walls of Vikela, a breeze washed over him, wisps of sapphire mists tugging at the edges of his visage. He thought back to the final battle between Order and Greed, a wave of emotion flooding over and clogging his senses. He thought back to Hillith's words that day, how confident they were that they would prevail. His marked right arm would faintly glow as he tried to keep his knees from buckling unto the stone below, his comrades rushing to his side to aid him.

"We did all we could, but it was for naught. Hillith was wrong, morality doesn't always triumph."

[SacredSource 397]

 

---

Richard Othaman sat alone in a field near Sakuragakure, surrounded by gravestones of his fallen comrades. His thoughts were heavy and scattered as he prepared a new stone to add to the growing line of gravemarkers. This marker served as a somber prediction of a Paladin’s destiny in the coming years. Inscribed upon it was “Hilith Athna of Sabet,” and planted beside the stone were the colors of the old chapter of Luxem.

 

Like Richard, Hilith was a fellow student of the great Seeker Jack Vivyaen. Like Richard, she too was tasked to inherit the duties of Seeker Jack Vivyaen. Like Richard, she too witnessed the death of Seeker Jack Vivyaen. A death whose weight surely still bore down upon her, an oppressive reminder of the cost of their endless struggle. 

 

Richard stared blankly at the names and titles upon the stones - the relics of a bygone age. The last he had heard of the Athna was when she had embarked on a final mission. The task?  To visit the An-Gho. An objective that seemed to be a death sentence in her current state. The certainty gnawed at Richard’s heart; yet there were no attempts made to stop her. She was a descendant of Xan after all, it was her purpose to avenge her blood. No news had come of her since, and in the silence, his conclusion seemed to manifest.

 

Sorrow and regret filled the mind of the Othaman Knight, the thoughts of failure to uphold the Order that Hilith had so fervently upheld. He could still remember Hilith's determined face before the day of the fall of Order, the stalwart gaze of absolute confidence against the insurmountable enemy. Even after the Lord fell, the declawed lioness seemed to dare to challenge any foe. For she truly was faithful to the duty of her bloodline. 

 

Lighting incense and a candle for the gravestones, the man muttered an Athnaic prayer of old from the Golden Scrolls. With the rites performed, the man embarked on his journey home. The road ahead was fraught with danger and uncertainty, but Richard knew the remnants of Order had to carry on, for Jack, for Hilith, and for all the Paladins who had devoted their lives to the dream of the light.

 

Salvation is Our Liturgy

 

 

[TheBigBubbles 963]

Blanca had not seen nor heard a peep from her mentor in years. She stood now on a rooftop as tentacles of flesh assailed both man and building, the Knight of Hyspia loaded a bolt of aurum into her crossbow and fired it upon a demonic magus, only for it to be deflected in a single movement of the magus' hand. The princess descended from her perched position and toward a Nephilim caught in the grasp of Gashadokuro as she primed yet another potion. The Nephilim spewed wretched flame at the ogre-lich, and yet, he did not fall, he barely even reacted.

 

The Hyspian reeled back a pace, reading herself to attack the creature, and yet as she did, he was completely enshrouded in a black cloud, along with his combatants, not to be seen again, at least not by Blanca. The princess gasped, and clambered down the rooftops for another target, frustrated that she'd allowed the enemy to slip from her fingers, and horrified at what the skeletal being might have done to the others.

 

Blanca chased the final demon out of the city of Fi'Andria tossing her mace toward the back of it's head in vain as it continued to just sprint out, she persued, but by now she'd sustained injury to her leg. A searing pain ran up her leg as the mark on her forearm glowed faintly green. The knight collapsed by the scorched fields as a solidier of malchediael reached down to help her back up, he prayed over her, recieveing prophecies from the lord GOD himself. Blanca bowed her head deeply, listening then to the words of her Lord. Her Lord that tasked her to champion a crusade on all that is dark. To continue the work of all those that came before her, for so was the curse of Horen. To blaze bright, and never see the culimination of your efforts.

 

In the infirmary now, Blanca pondered on her brief time as a paladin, on Hillith and the nature of order. The Aenguls and Daemons alike that influenced the realm of mortals. She thought on the nature of the Goose, and of deceit. The middle-aged woman rested her head back into her pillow, staring toward the ceiling, she spoke to Philip again then,

"Ser, Philip, Ser."

"Mm?"

"I would be Overjoyed to have you as an earpiece to GOD"

"Then it shall happen"

"There are too many decievers. I need good men at my side, steadfast against the new age that is to come."

The Princess rested now, content to call this battle ended. Descendantkind would continue, and she'd do all she could to safeguard it. Blanca was stalwart in her convictions, enlightened to the nature of the heavens, she'd not allow another blow from the GOD killer if she had any say in it. The princess drifted to sleep, one word, one target in her mind. Mordring.

 

[Jentos 9422]

“What is a woman?” Asked the An-Gho to the dead “Everything.” 

[Cepheid 4304]

Spoiler

This was truly a beautifully written pk post, perhaps the best I have ever read. While this is the ONE character of yours I never got to interact with, I know how much you loved her story. This is more of a sidenote than anything else, but thank you for always giving myself and others beautiful storylines.