The baking heat rippled, and exuded outward in a torrent in response to the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Death was not like the other gods who had emerged throughout the ages. He was a silent killer. Someone who watched from the corner of your eye, waiting for your final breath to leave your lungs, so he could do so he could do his job. And now Death was knocking on the door of a god. Each key was a knock on the god-tree, turning the already withering tree into a pile of molten sludge. With each key, the tree vanished a little faster, but the body of Eos simply did not wish to pass.
The heat skyrocketed in moments. The thinnest, simplest branches from far above where the clouds would've been were the first time mush, and the first to fall to the ground, in a drizzle, though far more bile-inducing. The sludge quickly began to stink from the rising heat–so much so that the globs lit aflame before crashing into the floating island with more force than it should have. With every second, and every piece of the tree that fell, the world seemed a little more bleak. The grimy tree matter grew darker, larger, and the heat only continued to rise. It looked like the end of the world, and the knight was quick to work.
When the first hints of sludge had begun to fall like asteroids, the knight had already raised his shield in defense, as he and Kanaft tried to understand the situation. The smell was terrible–beyond even the rotting snake from the desert, really. It made organizing through words meaningless. He and Kanaft were tethered together, and had worked in tandem once before off of a whim. And on another whim, the knight was a blur of motion.
The music became frantic. Four hands flicking across the grand instrument, clicking keys for a minute second before reappearing to the next. It seemed that even Death itself could feel the heat of the situation. That was both comforting for a moment, and deathly freighting for everything after. The heat was rising, the darkness was writhing, and the forest itself was enraged. The ash had noticed immediately the change in the world. Eyes were bursting, spilling a different sludge to the forest, as the creature was destroyed by the mere presence of the slumbering god. The heat itself had risen past the simply arid, almost desert-like air, and into something closer to that of a grand forest fire–yet not a lick of fire was produced. It was agonizing, sweat-inducing, and bloodcurdling.
In the far off, horizontal, distance, somewhere between the white fire, and an army of ash, Shreifaya, still blinded by rage, paused in the center of a cloud of bleeding orifices, the black blood stained her pristine body almost permanently, but she did not care. Something was wrong. Deathly wrong. Deathly. What did they do? What are they planning? Many other thoughts clouded her mind for a fraction of a moment–giving her clarity in her rage. Whatever they're planning, it won't work. Finish here, then go stop them. She closed her eyes in that moment, before letting a lake of white fire spew from her mouth, disintegrating the entire cloud of ash, for the moment, at least. The blood on her had vanished with the creatures, as they regenerated somewhere in the deep wall of ash, but that wasn't her problem. Glancing toward the distant floating island, her keen eyes saw something that shouldn't be–the Father of Fire, Lord Eos, the one who hatched from the sun, the son of darkness, was melting–they were killing her master. Whether it's permanent, or not, she must stop it. Coiling herself, she took off.
Left, right, backstep. These were the only thing the knight could think of as he grew nearer to Death and his cascade of never-ending chimes. All he could go off of was the sound of the instrument. Somewhere in between when Death had arrived and now, the willows of fire had all disappeared, and were quickly transfigured into shields the size of one of Kanaft's enormous wings, all of which were surrounding him without pattern. They were charging, and there was nothing that the knight was certain of anymore. The hazy darkness, with globs of the slumbering phoenix falling like asteroids, was far too unpredictable, and far too dangerous for him to be charging blindly to the instrument of death, yet he still was. Kanaft had caught up to him in the blurry previous seconds, and was now but a few paces behind him. Sprinting while pivoting, instinctual movement, as he stared upward toward where the stars should be. Every ten steps Kanaft took half a step, making sure not to trample his partner as he advanced. He hadn't had a moment to grab him, and rush to the place they were being attracted to, so he continued his slow, monotonously short steps.
The globs of thick plant matter were growing larger by the second. The blistering heat was at the precipice of becoming a physical barrier in between the pair and Death, alongside the infinite darkness of the lesser realm on this planet they called home. Neither could be certain as to why this was happening, but they both felt the trembling need to aid Death in this conquest.
The slight illumination of the nearby area from the blazing red fire was enough to at least spot what they were walking into. The stinking tree goo had just landed against the solid shields with even energy to ripple outward, and yet every drop still incinerated into nothing against the fire in less than a moment after impact. The low thunk from said impact was like a crack of thunder in a silent apocalypse that had started on the floating throne of Eos. Then it was followed by another, then another.
It was an endless rain of sludge, all from the youngest, farthest reaching, and smallest branches. This was the beginning. The shields did not have any trouble stopping the projectiles for now, but in time, both of them vaguely came to the understanding that this would most likely become much worse in time, and they couldn't do anything about it, but pray to the Great One that the shields would hold.
In the haze of darkness and heat as they kept moving as fast as the knight could, they quickly ran into a root. A dry husk of a root, that was shriveled up like a raisin, yes, yet it was still half the height of Kanaft, with enough strength left to give quite a bit of resistance.
The shields of fire in front of the knight were quick to disappear after touching the root of Eos.
"Absorbed."
Not enough time to respond. The knight was quick to push forward. Putting the full force of his weight and strength into his shoulder, not unlike a battering ram, and thereafter eviscerating the root into splinters. Frantic. He kept his same position, just increasing in speed, as he continued his charge to his target. Every few steps something resisted him momentarily, before folding inward. The swift playing of keys was coming from the right now. The loud slime ball hit the shield just above him was a quick reminder to turn to the keys. The rain of plant matter was growing denser, so he ran faster.
Kanaft kept up easily, as the knight led the way. The familiar tingle of fire manifesting enveloped his mind as he summoned more walls of fire, around the already existing shields of fire. From the outside, the dome of fire would be closer to a distant star in an endlessly larger island crowned by an endlessly larger tree. He pivoted easily as the knight turned to the right and picked up the speed by a fair amount. The tree may absorb his feeble fire on contact, but the young roots would never be able to withstand the physicality of his partner, which is what made this rush so easy.
He shouldn't have said that. The music death was playing was loud in his ears, just as they were for the knight. The jungle of roots and vines was as easy as powering through it but this was different. The familiar, strange instrument was in between them. Sat on that tattered leather bench, which had once been ornate, was the cloaked form of death swiftly playing a sheet of music in front of him.
Death's face was still hidden by the familiar rag that had once been a beautiful veil. His arms were still shrink-wrapped, and boney. It still did not breathe. It did not speak. It played the music like a drone. The music of a thousand souls screaming for repentance. It was both terrifyingly quick, yet a sickeningly slow, enigmatic tune. With four arms playing without pause, not staying still on a single key for more than a hair's breath. With every key pressed by the Guidance, both Kanaft and the knight could feel the quick the island tremble a tad more, with the tree disappearing just as slowly.
It was not long after discovering the pianist on the island floor in a small clearing that the pair had figured out why they were so drawn into the music. Death had been playing two separate songs, one to draw them in, to protect him while he played the second, and more important song. The song that was made to kill a phoenix. When they finally arrived in the clearing, the music had shifted, and it had really begun.
The god-tree, which had been slowly dissolved prior, was now melting exponentially faster. They were brought here to protect the Guidance as he enacted his plan to slay the phoenix. It was an instantaneous realization on Kanaft's part, that followed hastily by another batch of shields of hardened, blazing fire. There was not a hint of shadow within the dome of orange now. It would've been something to be careful of, if it was white light. But, thankfully, there was no white light here.
The knight was resting now, just as he should be. He had led them both to their objective, so letting him rest for some time was not something that was out of the question, though he would have to make it short.
His thoughts were cut short when the already quick composition doubled in speed. It sounded panicked now. That couldn't be good. Blinking, Kanaft looked about, while the knight got up from his slouched position on the floor, both preparing for something to happen. The surface wasn't just trembling anymore, it was quaking exuberantly. The island was either tearing apart under the pressure of its conduit reducing to nothing, or its wrath was being earned, and they would soon feel it. Either could be correct, but both the knight and Kanaft could agree that both of them were right in that moment. The eldest branches had been turned to mush, and now there was only the trunk left. Neither was sure how much time had passed inside of the dome, but neither had been paying attention to the time much. They were too busy watching as cracks formed in shields around them, before swiftly healing, before shattering completely against the sludge, before a new one formed to cover the gap. It was horrifying to watch and feel the heat spill in my acid rain from so far up that neither could see. It happened repeatedly; each time a trace of sludge would find its way into the inner dome, all three creatures in it reacted. A hint of a flinch from the musician, while the other two, lesser beings writhed due to it.
The knight was used to extreme weather, but the nausea, heat, and bleariness he felt as the drop of bile fell from the momentary crack in the ceiling was completely unbearable. His eyes were beyond dry, his skin was bubbling, and the armor he was wearing wasn't its proper shape anymore. Seams were missing, and plates were melding together, into ugly configurations that merged with the skin beneath it, which was turning into soup from the quick shift in temperature. Kanaft wasn't affected nearly as much as the knight, but even he felt the heat, and couldn't help but shrink back in fear. He couldn't stop the muddy matter from leaking through. As the mode of black sludge was absorbed into the dirt beneath them, the temperature immediately shifted to something far more manageable to the knight. He ruffled his own feathers in doubt. His partner was suffering, but he couldn't do anything about it.
'My flame is too weak to hold the hail made of father at bay. There's nothing I can do…' Without him realizing, his beak began clattering loudly, as he stared off, trying to come up with something that could help him in this situation. He created more shields, larger, thicker on the outer exterior of the dome, yet they too shattered into nothing faster and faster with each incoming projectile.
A rough grunt of agony sighed its way out of the knight's lips cast in darkness. "Is there anything you can do to not let that happen again?" He had asked this question with a hope, of course, but was quickly answered when a glob, not much larger than the previous one dripped from a crack that had formed and was fixed a second too late. It was much hotter than the previous one, and it wasn't the only droplet at that moment.
Across the dome, a half dozen pelts fell through the cracks, and the heat sky rocketed for every moment they were in the air. Time stilled as the knight saw them well up and fall like a traumatic rain. It was felt instantly.
He was melting. He was sure he was melting. His lungs felt small. What was happening again? A shriek enveloped his ears, so loud that he'd have thought his partner had let loose another of his deafening caws, which he did, but that wasn't what had made that noise. His mouth was open. He could feel the coppery taste in his mouth swell and erase and swell and erase as his mouth dried to a desert. Something was leaving his eyes. Too hot to be tears–they disintegrated. Why couldn't he move? Was he trying to move? He couldn't remember. He couldn't see. Did he just hit the ground? Was he deflating? Why did he feel empty? On his prune of a tongue he tasted earth, he did hit the ground. From his lips things left his mouth. What was it? His stomach felt empty. It was slimy on his lips. Long too. It wasn't that thick, though. Was he puking? Something was being forced out of his throat. It was hot–just like everything around him was.
Kanafted cawed in agony. That was hot. It was so hot. Heat. The dome flickered in his lucid state, which nearly led to the end of them. A shuddering, angry sound brought the bird back to the real world, and therefore the fiery barriers. Death had interrupted his score to make sure that the bird was still with him. And the first thing he felt was the heat, something he was quickly adapting to, somehow, but the heat wasn't anything compared to the despondent knight. Nadiral was the only way to describe the knight. There was no difference between metal and skin anymore. They had become one in the minor moments following the heat. It was execrable. He would call the knight frozen solid, but heat was the reason for his solidity.
Kanaft shivered from a cold that didn't exist, as his partner fell face first into the ground beneath them without a sound to denote impact. There was no creaking or groaning of iron, only the squelching of exposed muscles slowly severing, while tensing and untensing. Ears ringing, bleeding, on the verge of never hearing again, he saw the red liquid of life ooze outward from the knight. He saw the knight's body flinch violently as he lurched upward despite the agony he was in, releasing a stinking pile of innards from behind the visor of his helmet. Pinkish. Squishy looking. Definitely slimy. That was what came to the dazed mind of Kanaft as he looked at the echo of a man. The strange, black arm was leaking pure shadow into the dome of light and heat. It was the touch of coldness that allowed him to keep his mind and body from shutting down during the wave of agonistic heat. This was only the beginning. He was not strong enough to hold off the full force of the trunk's heat, the beating heart of his father with this weak flame. He needed the divine fire. Staring down at his partner, as a long, fleshy intestine slowly wormed its way from its gulet, he knew he needed it. The knight could not see anymore. He peered into the mind of the knight, only to find a white sheet, blank and unused. There was no one. The knight could not hear anymore. He was staring at a husk. He needed to work fast. The divine fire. The divine fire. Another several cracks formed instantaneously after the droplets prior had made it halfway to the soil. Then another crack. They were larger than the previous ones. They were enormous even. The knight had shattered again, falling face first into his own innards, with them still clogging his airway due to the imbalance of his statue-like state. He was a rock. Kanaft needed the fire. He needed the fire. It was the only way they would survive this excruciating ordeal.
His feathers were…healing? In the short seconds since the exposure had begun, Kanaft's feathers, all across his enormous visage had ignited, yet before they could turn to less than ash, they felt stronger against his skin beneath them. The heat bounced off him, and his mind stitched itself back together from the precipice of a senseless state. His eyes shut on instinct, the same survival instinct that was meant to–yes. He felt a strange surge in the prickling sensation that he had associated with the activation, and manipulation of his fire. It was unfamiliar, yet it was empowering. Was this–was this the blessing of the divine fire?
Still bleary-minded, Kanaft smirked as much as his beaked mouth allowed him to, why tightly closing his eyes. The warm light bled instantly to a harsh white. They had made it, and he had taken the last step in his evolution.
Somewhere off to the left of the pair, the Guidance was frantic in his movements. As the moments passed, and the cage of orange shields corroded, he, much like the knight, was not fairing well in the excruciating heat. He needed to end this fast. Jittery fingers lightly grazed a note before moving onto the next duo of keys side by side, and then another set of keys following that. It was hectic, and now on a timer. His ears were infinitely more sensitive than even the keenest of mortal creatures, so the ever present splashes above him, only growing in weight, ferocity, and heat were a constant in his ears. The same could be said for the near silent shattering for the shields before they appeared once again. He knew there would soon be a short drizzle across the short space that could barely house the three of them, but he was proven wrong only moments after the first droplets were soon to enter. Beads of sweat cascaded down his face, as the heat continued to build on his weak, pencil-like frame. He was slowing. The keys were mute to his ears now. The only thing on his mind was the sheet of music seen through his eyeless sockets, blocked by the veil of purity, and life. The already overwrought keys were painfully reminded of their place. Some cracked under the pressure of Death's weight, despite the light taps of his fingers. But all was not lost. The draping heat instantly evaporated. It was enlightening, but Death did not stop. The suffocating heat was dismissed, meaning he could play even faster. There was no time for stray thoughts, but he did note that the bird had saved all three of them from the heat, before the bird himself realized.
Shutting his eyes, he continued playing the ritual music, and felt the slight change in his own lips as the thick barrier of white fire materialized in place of the old, decrepit shields. The sludge had vaporized in the face of the fire of judgement. It was a perfect defense, but that did not mean he could slow. Although, he did take quite a few seconds to ingest the current condition of his champion, the Young Immortal.
Horrifying wasn't enough to describe the condition of the knight. Lurid wasn't enough. There was no word that could describe the statue that had vomited himself virtually hollow. The pile of goo in front of him was stinking even to the nose of the rotting, ghoulish form of Death itself. He could straighten the knight out with another one of sheets of music, but that would detract from the current spell. Taking a pair of hands away from it would make the entire thing take an already dangerous ritual into something both dangerous and long. There was also the white to consider…
He turned his full attention back to the instrument given to him by the love of his life and afterlife, and focused on the music in the morose silence. The Young Immortal could wait a little while longer. Plus, his best spells used all four hands, so once this was over, he would be able to recover far faster. He decided to go with that. A short breath left his shriveled lungs; a sigh.
Time passed in the white bubble. Kanaft didn't dare move in the presence of Death itself. He stood up to his full stocky height frozen like a statue, as he felt the ground shudder, and cry in agony. His eyes were shut, and the anticipation for what was about to happen built in him. His father would wake up for the first time in his life. A loud slam shook the roof of the dome, yet it did not budge in the slightest. The shell was perfect–at least in this situation. The raven wasn't sure how long he had been in this dome, but he did know that it had just ended. Death had pressed his last key, and the island went still.
He wanted to look over to Death, to ask permission to dismiss the barrier, but he could not, but the hum of affirmation that left the thin, powdery lips of Guidance was enough to do just the trick. The white light that blighted his clenched eyelids disappeared instantly, while both Death and Kanaft opened their eyes to the darkness.
Flames of white sputtered into existence across the large island. There was nothing left of the elder tree. There was only the lake of goop that had built up on the surface. There was no heat from it anymore, yet seeing the brown and green liquid still made the bird flinch a little. A clack of the beak followed. The silence was broken by a set of two keys being played, both moody, yet both were opposites in pitch. Soon after, Kanaft, Guidance, and the knight's corpse were hovering about the quickly solidifying lake of ilk on the same plot of dirt they had been hunkered in since the beginning. Kanaft decided that it was an odd feeling, floating without flapping his wings. Odd, but not bad. Summoning a large bonfire in the corner of the small, floating mound of dirt, and only then looking over the knight's state for the first time, he dearly wished he didn't. In that moment, being one of the feral ones of the surface level did not seem too bad; at least the mindless don't remember the fate of those they care about, because they don't care about anyone or anything.
Death didn't mutter a thing. He only arranged his hands once again, getting ready to play something new, and at that moment, the disgusting ooze lit on fire, just before Death had begun to play. Whether there was a correlation or not was not what he cared about. A lake of beautiful orange fire had consumed the world around them. Some of it went all the way down the Sacred lands below, but most of it was above it, still on the island. They were towering flames, almost reaching the small place of safety which the three were situated on. Death began the melody, while the foreign score dissipated into another indecipherable piece. It was warm; inviting. It was made to heal, and that's what it was doing to the knight–the nauseating way.
The intestine hanging out of his visor, mouth, and clogged in his throat was dragged back into place. The lake of fire shifted to a magnificent white. Don't look done. The pile of pink and red shortly congealed and inflated into everything that had melted, and oozed out of his chest and mouth. The white fire began shrinking inward. The ugly marks left by the tears of blood, and gore flaked off, while the chocolate brown eyes reconstructed and brown hair regrew rapidly. The melody continued. The fire consumed the sludge, leaving not a hint of the previous body left, and now burned in the same place the slumbering god had been sitting before the ritual. The shadows which had tried escaping the stygian arm made of the midnight of the Shadow Realm were dragged back to the arm, without the arms activation being necessary. A single pillar of white fire remained, burning with no heat, yet it breached the veil of ash without ease, and from the heart of the pillar of divine fire, the former sun's soul had been reborn. The keys played harsher. The knight was separated violently from the still scalding metal of his armor. It cooled instantly after separation, and restoration. The ruler of Moyra, the only phoenix, had finished his rebirth. Lord Eos had awoken from his coma.