This time round, there's no watery grave of fallen architecture, and no wa- omme carcasses in sight. Instead, the crippled and polluted planetary capital has become nothing more than a monumental reflection in the ocean water beneath my feet. '
However, in place of where the wintry smog once hung, there is another ocean right above me, with its surface facing down in opposition to the one below, reflecting Aromina in its former prime - pristine and untouched by darkness.
Absent of the Sincistic Mal's corruption and decay, limpid, crystalised fortresses shine with light-filled purity; enshrouded by an eternal mist. Giving the impression that the tragedy had never occurred. The two oceans exhibit Aromina's past in polar opposite conditions.
One is full of life, whereas the other is demised and devastated.
Then, the oceanic reflections of the cities dispel, and both versions of the planetary capitals penetrate the surface of their respective oceans. Becoming solid and multidimensional, opposed to remaining as an intangible image. They protrude from the waters, striving to greet each other - and then they collide, smashing into one another in a chaotic burst of fragments. Putrescent and translucent shards dart indiscriminately through the intermediate strip, a subspace intersecting between the two seas.
Then the shards freeze in mid-air and reeled back, collected into individual assortments. The brittle clumps of fragmentation redesign and sculpt their fragile constitution. Smoothing out its unrefined edges to appear flawless. Fine line fractures or any evidence of previous damage are imperceptible. Counting four fingers and an opposable thumb. Long, serrated nails are erected from the tips of each digit. Hundreds of giant yet detached, pellucid hands levitate inertly over me - until one twitches and begins to move by itself.
A spark of carmine from the tips of my talons instigates another electrical surge. It shoots down my fingers and hits my knuckles. Spreading throughout my whole hand, and traveling up my arms, quickly dominating my entire body in its volatile rampage.
An enormous hand above me forms a fist and angles the fore of its knuckles to a downward aim. Then all of a sudden, a flash of purple overcomes me – and ejects me into the infinite openness of the subspace strip. Positioning me far from the active fist as it strikes down and drives its protuberant knuckles into the water, dousing them. It glides over to me and repositions itself directly above my head again, appearing to have some spatial cognizance.
It is then joined by a second, a third, and a fourth. They align themselves behind one another, while the hundreds of others stay inactive in high suspension.
Not even so much as a buck or a flex of a finger.
A succinct, elemental outburst of purple engulfs me once more, and I am propelled backwards before I could receive their short, vehement blows.
Without hesitation, the fists pound concurrently and unremittingly into my place of absence - until they notice their target is no longer beneath their knuckles. They adapt to the change by initiating an airborne chase through the strip as they perpetuate their contactless beatdown into the water. Showing no mercy.
The talons of my toes skim across the ocean's black surface during my continuous evasion, leaping backwards through consecutive bursts of flashing lights.
Avoiding every possible impingement via my subconsciously guided coordination.
However, with each evasive leap, the existing gap between the passing deliverances of impact becomes slimmer, inches away from expunging my soul. Then, in the spur of the moment, a fifth, a sixth, and a seventh fist participate in the ongoing assault.
Static fills the complete pale intersecting strip of space, and the rapidity of the fists drastically deescalates to the point of immobilization, as they are captured in an elemental net.
They've become utterly paralyzed.
Since I have somehow landed myself in this inauspicious situation, I've been forced to rely on this autonomous power to survive the fist's aggressive advance; and then, in this very instance, as time is slowed down, I realise I am no longer leaping backwards, but falling instead. Why?
Is it because I am too weak to wield the divine element - or is it simply beyond my own understanding?
Is there really such little hope for me, or am I overthinking it?
Just what am I missing?
Then a cold, and indistinct solidity stabs into my back. Missing my spine. It drills through my ribcage with remorseless force, and a carmine-tipped spike shoots out from my chest. I gasp as the pain I once felt and knew in my dream revisits me.
The similarities of my situation run almost parallel with the Sincistic Mal.
History is repeated and relived again in the present, under different circumstances. I was too distracted by my own thoughts and failed to foresee its next move.
A set of fingers curls around me while I'm still impaled by the spike erected from its lucid palm, securing me within its clutches, before pulling me under the passive waves and down into the darkness, where an inescapable chilliness dwells. Making me thankful for my facial contraption protecting my airways while underwater.
Below me, there is a bright blue light shining out from the bottomless chasm of the vast geode reef - a familiar circle of radiance. The further I am dragged down into its radical pitch-black depths, nearing the grand circle, temperatures begin to impatiently become warmer, quickly reaching borderline boiling degrees. Chancing my skin of being scolded. I hiss at the searing sensations licking my flesh.
If only the void could come to my aid as it did for the Sincistic Mal, an eon ago.
Over a dozen luminous orbs float within the depthless chasm; however, the further I descend into the immeasurable deep, I come to realise that what I had initially mistook for spheres of light are in fact some sort of strange, unknown species of arachnid with fluorescent blue, oval-shaped, and swollen abdomens. Lengthy arched legs and short blunt mandibles. And the ginormous illuminated circle below is none other than an optic of a greater yet visually incomprehensible being; one who dwarfs the size of any Stern.
A wa-omme.
"The devoted founder of Eckrhyne kind has failed you. An insignificant mortal, who is a deficient and inferior imitation of the despicable Mal; a creature who should have never come into being!" It exclaimed inside my head.
I still feel the element within me, the very divinity that allowed me to fall. Its internal presence is undeniable and cannot be disputed. A purple aura of static outlines my anatomy, and then an electrical power strikes forth from where I was impaled, as a furious plethora of forks, hitting the colossus's optic.
The colossal roars and uncurls its fingers in a quaking spasm. The ice in my chest retracts with a brisk, instantaneous withdrawal. The chasm around me shakes, and a glistening aureate rift tears into reality, producing a vacuum suction from behind me. Trying to pry me from this oceanic domain.
The looming threat of my escape drives the colossus to rupture the chasm. Crippling the reef, as it sunders itself from the blacked-out cliffs, partially revealing its wide, robust form - clawing its way towards me. It rampages through the upheaval of debris, as I am hauled into the malformed portal. The wa-omme apprehends the rim, holding it firm and still, in an attempt to delay its closure. Stressing the shimmering edges.
Seawater pours into the interdimensional tunnel. I stomp my foot down and rake my talons along the golden, scintillating floor. Purposely drag my weight as I slide backwards on my feet. Slowing down into eventual discontinuance.
I sigh in relief.
Finally attaining some stable footing. This dream of mine feels too real. I shouldn't be experiencing such vivid sensations.
Somewhat of a fraction of my strength is returning to me after that release of power, but it still isn't enough. I catch my reflection in the floor, and even now, after the revelation of being the first incarnation of the Sincistic Mal, it still hasn't quite sunken in yet.
Not to mention, his introduction to my second reincarnation was done so on a short and ambiguous note. Their identity has been left unknown. Shrouded in darkness. Is there a reason why my future self appeared as nothing more than a silent shadow? Was it divine darkness at play, or does the Sincistic Mal wish not to reveal too much about my future?
"Sincistic Mal!" The colossus roars within my mind. Sillhaine also used that name. The mad entity mentioned it in one of my dreams that it was used as a slur. Unfortunately for him, I don't know of any other name to call him. My seismic foe forces his way through the entrance and crawls into the tunnel. Why wasn't this caliber of wa-omme mentioned or referenced in any of his memories? It makes the stern inferior in terms of physical proportions and prowess.
Did this wa-omme exist prior to or after the time of my third reincarnation's disappearance? Then an airy presence ghosts against my spine, and along my right arm, encouraging it to rise. He whispers to me as he gently lifts it.
"Through our memories, through our blood, we are forever interconnected."
The interaction excites the element furthermore, and so, a new desire within me reveals itself, one that was never thought of, nor considered. The unexplored desire to seek fulfillment and to express dominance.
It is an irrational need that yearns to be fed and to satisfy its foreign, primeval hunger. I salivate from my gums, and move my jaw around in the limited space inside my breathing apparatus with an aching hunger, a specific keenness to sink my fangs into the soul of my prey. As though it is compensating for the sense of incompleteness inside of me, accompanied by a twinge of pain from the bleeding perforation in my chest – in my essence.
These complex sentiments are not mine, and yet – they are.
I want to relish in this wa-omme's displeasure, and become the very root of its agony.
The ghost-like presence closes my hand into a fist, and the portal seals itself, cutting off the water source, as well as severing the wa-omme's body in twain. Now, severed from the waist downwards. His upper half flails forward and falls unceremoniously down onto its front with a cumbrous bang. His oculus smolders intensely, as he projects rings of blue light. They hurtle towards me. Inducing mute explosions of blue all around me.
And yet, I do not feel any pain.
My third reincarnation is still standing behind me, and a dome of dark, crackling energy is enclosed around us, absorbing the brunt of the ceaseless bombardment. Withstanding the opposing element's hostile collision, and then in the heat of the conducted long-range assault, the protective barrier bursts wide open, unleashing a dark multi-ringed shockwave. Electrocuting my resolute and single-minded foe, causing him to judder uncontrollably. Wheezing with his throat panels open.
My future self vanishes after the performed counteraction.
My arm falters and falls to my side. Hanging without purpose.
Did your priorities change again?
Was staying by my side too bothersome for you?
Or am I asking for too much?
Does leaving me here bleeding and vulnerable somehow fall into your favour, since you are so perfectly capable of weaving your own web of fate?
Have the tides of opportunity and fortuity presented themselves to you elsewhere?
If I have been abandoned to testify, then so be it.
I will find out whether I am destined to survive this behemoth or not. The wa-omme's bulky, and see-through anatomy starts to dismantle itself. His limbs and visage break down. Ribs retract into the sternum, and the solid, crystallised panels in between shatter into pieces. The fragments are collated and segregated into downsized clusters. Repeating the same technique as before, by reconstructing his anatomy from self-destruction. Purposely executing his rebirth, and sheds his excess of Alosium molt.
He has adopted a skeletal likeness in appearance, as well as my height and stature. His movements are awkward and stiff as he lurches from the mountainous collapse of molt. Struggling to find his balance while standing with a hunched posture.
It is rather amusing how quick he was to criticize me when he himself is incapable of standing up properly.
"Earlier, you made a biased and derogatory assessment of me, which is rather hypocritical for someone who was also created in someone else's likeness." The resemblance between the Esseden and the colossus was undeniable.
If you try to create an imitation of the original, wouldn't that make it considerably weaker and more prone to flaws? Sickness? Shorter lifespan? I feel like I am describing myself.
I know I am not excluded from the harsh challenges of life and my own personal difficulties, whatever they may be. The colossus blunders ahead and throws a punch, aiming straight between my eyes.
Pathetic.
I act quickly without hesitation, leaving no room for secondary thoughts. I stoop down and lower my head, as his fist strikes forward, grazing horizontally across my crown - between my horns. Punching at nothing. I hold my position and then inch to the side, all the while being mindful of my horns being within his reach. I strike its newly constructed ribs, smashing the panels, and I stomp my foot down on his shin, with enough force to cause a serrated split. Not enough to go straight through, though.
The wa-omme sways.
I put my weight on the tip of my toes as I shoot upwards, and bang my forehead against his optic, fracturing it. I pound my knuckles into his facial panels in a short burst of rounds, knocking him back. This deprived him of his chances of seizing an opening for a counterattack. The flushing heat of adrenaline restores my lost vigor.
Urging me towards a primal high.
Stimulated by the rush of my survival instincts, and seduced by my own predicament. It had introduced me to a new level of masochism. Is this what the so-called aforementioned thrill of consequence feels like?
Shards rain from the fragmented rim of his lens, displaying a dark blue dot in its centre.
"You could not have aimed for a more obvious place." He remarks, snidely.
"Our lens is a protective filter for visual accuracy and controlling our power, but your soul is still perceivable, with or without it."
The dark blue dot flickers like a miniature, lonesome flame. I smirk at the sight of it. I think back to when the clone tried to overcome its limiter. I leap aside as a wide and raw beam of light blasts forth from the dot. He turns his head, dragging the unfiltered beam across, as he follows my direction of movement. Having already experienced a similar scenario, I am given a sudden boost of confidence, and as my future self demonstrated before, I lift my arm again, intuitively feeling the endless amount of electrical charge at my disposal. Heeding my natural inclination to act as he once did, and thus I cast an electrical dome over me.
It proves that I only need to see it once to perform the same method of offensive defense. The barrier isn't perfect, but it should suffice for the time being. I need to learn to have more faith in my capabilities. There's an amenity in having an impressive memory, and yet ironically so, I can only recall a few of the Sincistic Mal's memories.
The beam demolishes the barrier in an overcharged clash, as it takes the majority of the attack, briefly blinding me. My foe charges through the waning pulse of energy, unhindered by it. He executes an uppercut to my jaw, and a loud, sickening crunch follows. I'm thrown off my stance and stricken by his debilitating deliverance. My jaw has become lodged and unmovable. And my breathing apparatus is caved in. Nausea and lightheadedness overtake me. Loose fangs move under and over my bitter-coated tongue. Even with little to no movement at all, the pain continues to spread throughout my whole maw.
It is too excruciating to shift.
Then, I notice something glowing inside the wa-omme's chest, pulsing and humming with vitality. I endure the pain and punch through his ribcage. I hiss and snarl as the jagged panels slice my arm. I keep telling myself that the pain is nothing but a figment of my imagination. It isn't real. I rummage through his ice-cold internal nest of cords cradling his immortal essence. The coldness sticks to my skin and stings.
Then something strong and abrupt tugs at my horns, trying to pull me away. I push my weight against him and ram his back into the interdimensional wall. A hard, iced fist pounds into my face over and over again. As I endure the thrashing, I claw through the cords to seize the tangible spirit and tear it out from deep within his ribcage, stringing out the silver vines.
Its once rooted ends slump to the floor, squirting water, and so the beatings relent. The dot central within his optic lens discolors to a depressive argentine, and the poundings discontinue altogether. He topples over and collapses in his own bodily fluids. I step back. My arms are smeared with blood, bleeding from my cuts. I turn my back on my motionless foe with his spiritual essence in my hand, and sight a rift located at the far end of the tunnel.
I refuse to stay here and perish beside him.
Tepidness melts into my skin as I pass through the exiting portal and step into another area, to discover Ira standing there on the other side, peering into the distance, lost in thought. Then he notices me with a side glance. He vanishes into an immediate burst of frolicking specks and reappears in front of me. He frantically looks me over with listless scrutiny.
"You're alive. Thank goodness!" He ascertains in relief. I nod weakly, affirming his sentiment, since I am unable to physically speak. Fatigued, due to the unending bleeding. Internally cursing my own wretched anguish. The divine element still rages within me like a vindictive spirit. Keeping my high prey drive alive. I don't even know what happened.
I don't know if this is reality or just one nightmare. Did that Wa-omme try to assassinate me during my sleep by attacking me in my dreams? Am I even awake or still dreaming?
"I thought you were..." He dares not finish his sentence. His face creases, and pulls his palps inwards into a tight curl. I loom over him, engulfing him in my shadow.
"Vonplex?"
Is that the name of my third reincarnation? The one Ira was trying so desperately to bring back? Now, I understand why the mad entity gave me a new name, or else if he hadn't, I would have naively accepted his as my own.
He granted me the opportunity to take the first step towards establishing my own identity through my dreams, so I could differentiate myself from him on an interpersonal level. And for the first time, I want others to see me for who I am.
Not what Ira created me to be - a weak duplicate.
I grab the founder by the throat. Conjuring the emotion of the element and converting it into mental strength, so I could open the door into his mind, just like the wa-omme did to me.
He needs to hear me.
An outbreak of electrical sparks upsurges from my eyes in an aimless conduct.
"Do not call me by that name again," I growl.
The founder rests his delicate hand on mine, around his thin neck. He does not struggle or reject me out of fear.
"You need to release me." He instructs collectedly. "You are not of sound mind right now, and I will not lose you to the height of mania again."
He reverts back into his nebulous guise and slips away from my tight grip. Then all of my strength is sapped from me in an instant, rendering my mind blank. Prompting a mental blackout.