While the Ossuary’s force of Transcendents prepared for the impending battle, the sa was also happening on the side of the Errant...
Far across the snowy plains, moving into the much warr territory where the barrier of the world tear itself resided, the cities bordering the boundary on both sides were essentially ghost cities now.
Whether in the real world or within the world tear, the streets were utterly empty and devoid of life. The only exceptions were a very few nosy Arcanists and unaffiliated Ossuarists... or rather, revenants.
Unlike the logical majority who saw the massive movents of the Ossuary and fled the region to escape the path of the coming storm, the few who stayed behind felt there were opportunities to be had.
They believed they could scavenge the remnants of the clash, so long as they could stay alive. Whether they were right or wrong remained to be seen, though.
Moving past the border cities, the Errant was still nowhere close to the world tear barrier itself. In fact, he was a comfortable hour away from the border city, and from the way he stood, it seed as though this was exactly where he wanted to wage his battle from.
Finn stood atop a small hill, peering at the distant horizon as if he could see far beyond the normal limits of his visual range. A black, cape-like cloak was draped across his shoulders, fluttering wildly in the rushing wind. In his hands, he held the Errant Sword with its tip pierced deep into the dirt, cutting a noble, relaxed pose.
His hair was tied atop his head neatly, with only a few stray strands falling down to wave along with the gale. His expression was serene, even a bit thoughtful, as he stared into the distance with his glowing green eyes.
Behind him, soft footsteps crunched on the loose earth as soone climbed the hill to et him.
"Lord Errant," Vrylla, his Anaelle priestess, spoke with a deeply reverent tone. "Shall we begin the ritual?"
Finn continued to stare at the horizon silently, not responding at first. Then abruptly, he waved his cloak and turned sharply to face Vrylla, walking past her to overlook the opposite side of the hill.
Far below, a crowd of Anaelle numbering at least fifty stood in a very particular star formation. Their white-furred figures made the tactical arrangent stand out even more under the morning sunlight.
At the front of the line, Cordoza, the champion of the Errant, stood tall and firm. He carried a cold, dangerous aura about himself that was especially surprising considering the short ti Finn had left them to their own devices.
The eager-eyed, flitty Cordoza of the past was nowhere to be found. Instead, the Anaelle standing there looked like a seasoned general, cutting the proper figure of the Errant’s true champion.
Next to Cordoza and the Anaelle formation behind him, an even larger block of individuals stood waiting.
These people were clad in black, well-fitted clothes that allowed for ample fighting movent. On the chest of their garnts, the distinct insignia of Aethelos’ red dragon was clear for all to see. Coupled with the traces of red lining the edges of their black fabric, one could imdiately surmise that they were of the Aethelosian army.
More specifically, this black-clothed block of fighters was Aethelos’ loyal Ossuarist force. The delegation the Undying Fla had sent out before her fall had successfully arrived, eting with Finn over the course of the five days he had made the Ossuary wait.
They ca with a massive force and swore their absolute loyalty to the Errant, just as their queen had instructed them to do. At first, Finn hadn’t seed particularly interested in their plight, but he eventually changed his mind and allowed them into his service just the day prior.
To complete the array of the Errant’s forces, the rest of the Aethelosian army that had made it across the continent in ti stood far behind in much larger chunks and neat blocks.
These ones were all Arcanists, and although they were all of the Master rank, they were practical people, and they all knew they were likely going to die in this battle against the sheer might of the Ossuary. It was for this reason that they very much appreciated the aid of the last additions standing right next to their lines.
A familiar young woman stood at the forefront of a large array of artifact wielding Arcanists. It was Nova, the Noble Xiph whom Finn had sparred with back at Stratus. She, or more aptly, her entire family, had unanimously decided to bring their banners under the Errant.
They were betting it all, siding with him in this cataclysmic battle to entirely reshape the hierarchy of the world. Her family’s noble chanus house had brought together their many artifact nurturer Arcanist forces, and they had also outfitted the Aethelosian forces with enough high-grade equipnt that even the lowest soldier was outfitted to the maximum limit.
The amount of pure wealth on display here could not be overstated. Yet despite this imnse corporate influence, and despite the different continental forces on display, they all looked up at the singular figure standing on the hill without any trace of dissatisfaction whatsoever.
Finn observed the sprawling forces, focusing particularly on his loyal Anaelle. They looked up to him as if he were a living deity, waiting for his order to begin their work. With a short nod, he gave his assent, and the Anaelle began imdiately.
In one coordinated movent, they each raised the signature bone-white mask that was unique to the followers of the Errant Heretic, placing them on their faces and fitting them properly into place. Next, within the formations, deep drum sounds started to echo.
So Anaelles carried ritual drums and began to beat them in perfect synchronization. Each strike sounded like it was waking up a dying beast, slowly filling everyone, even the Aethelosian Ossuarists and the Arcanist forces behind them, with a rising, foreign courage.
But the intended recipient of these beating drums wasn’t the army. It was the figure standing on the hill.
Finn turned forward and faced the direction of the world tear barrier far past his visual range. Slowly, he removed his black cloak and looked up to the darkening sky, mumbling rapid words under his breath as the drums began to get more powerful and rapid.
Vrylla, his priestess standing behind him, was also muttering evocative words under her breath. She danced and writhed her body to the sharp rhythm of the drums, her eyes closed as she fully imrsed herself in the ritual.
Her voice started to get louder, filled with thick emotion and conviction as she chanted in her native Anaelle language. Her words beca more evocative, filling all who heard her with a trembling, restless energy that they didn’t know how to vent.
The fervor in the air reached a sharp crescendo, becoming physically palpable. Ossuarists and Arcanists alike were bouncing on the balls of their feet, holding onto barely bottled energy and emotion.
They were filled with a sudden confidence and a thirst for battle like they had never felt in their entire lives. They looked entirely ready to kill and maul their enemies.
As if this fervor wasn’t enough, the main event finally started.
The Errant opened his glowing green eyes, which held a flat, unrippling calm, and began to chant an incantation audibly across the peaks:
"Phasma before Will.
Null before Mass.
The Witnessed before the Witness.
Consciousness before the Conscious.
Sothing from the nothing.
Rule from the void.
Authority from the chaos.
Infallible fallacy.
Invalid... from the very first stirring...."
The mont he began to chant, the sky rapidly darkened, and a low, chilling groan could be heard from the very fabric of the world itself.
It filled everyone who heard it with a heavy, uncomfortable feeling, as though they were witnessing sothing utterly wrong on a scale so fundantal it defied their tiny minds.
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