Page 4039

Impossible didn't even begin to describe it. Time had not been time. Who could have--?

He saw, finally. Damian was there. Moving when he shouldn't be able to. Seeing what he shouldn't be able to.

The man's eyes were as wide and wild as any Ettol had ever seen. And they were staring right through him.

"I see you, devil."

And the blows kept coming. Pummeling the incarnation's body.

Ettol lashed out out with the Windlight. A surge of psychic strength. Released all at once, without aim.

A great pulse pushed his attacker back and left the small fortress rumbling. But that was not all. The wind stayed. It whipped itself into a frenzy, flowing to and fro with guidance from Ettol.

Agh. A wisp had slipped through. A nuisance, but fine. Perhaps even helpful. Not time to fuss over it, though.

Damian was not pushed back for long. He was blitzing straight toward him.

Not using that strange power of his? Fortunate.

Ettol raised a hand to summon full psychic force. Freezing the man in place would be the best solution, but maybe--

Damian was barely affected. He rushed through and swung again, forcing Ettol to dodge physically.

Now he was beginning to understand.

Psychic breaks could sometimes result in these sorts of unexpected reactions. It all depended on how one coped with the advent of madness.

Judging by the smile on his face, Damian wasn't minding it terribly.

Germal certainly was. That expression on that face couldn't have looked more wrong. Was that truly Damian?

There was no opportunity to contemplate it. Germal was a skilled hand-to-hand fighter, of course, but Damian had always been on another level when it came to such things. And if psychic attacks were going to be of limited use, then he didn't favor his chances here.

Damian was a tornado of blows, now--as if the wisp that had snuck its way into the room had chosen to bless every one of his attacks. It was all Germal could do to stay on his feet. Right hook, left hook, sweep of the leg, feint, jab, knee, grab, spin, fly.

It didn't make sense. Nothing did.

"This is what you fear," Damian was saying with a laugh. "Isn't it? You fear us seeing through you all. Growing stronger than you all. Showing you that we aren't your playthings."

Page 4038

If the reaper was ever to be repaired, then it would be in moments like this, when he was accessing as much of the Windlight as he could.

Or that was the theory, at least. Perhaps the Lights were themselves the problem. Perhaps their essential energies clashed with that of the reapers.

Unfortunately, there would be no certainty until he conducted more tests. And even then, this incarnation might simply be still too weak.

But it was worth a try, at least.

He retrieved Nerovoy from his coat again. For a while, he merely sat there, observing the reaper's fragile form another time.

Curious. It had already degraded quite a bit, even though he'd just reinvigorated it with the Windlight not too long ago. Was it because he'd put the reaper away? Out of sight, out of mind? And so the psychic influence holding Nerovoy together had dissipated much more quickly.

Hmm. How was he only now learning of this?

Well. He wasn't often given to these bouts of attentive experimentation.

In which case...

Ettol's gaze fell to Feromas next.

That one was also quite vulnerable, right now. Ettol harbored no ill will towards the reaper, of course. It wasn't about that. But if he could perform a more invasive observation of a healthy reaper, then perhaps he could learn how to help Nerovoy.

Yes, of course.

This one wasn't even about Jonah.

Though, admittedly, that was a nice bonus.

Don't worry, Jonah. If this worked, then it wouldn't matter if Feromas also suffered. Ettol would be able to repair him, too. And so much more. Think of the possibilities.

Heh.

Ettol was already on his feet and walking again.

Oh? Stirring again, Jonah? Fighting?

Ettol's pace slowed.

Not too exhausted already, eh? Go on, then. Show your strength. How much resistance could you truly mount? How important was Feromas to you?

Stop, Ettol. Stop this.

Begging now? Finally, some humility, Jonah. You should have demonstrated that more often. Things may have never come to this, if you did. Why don't you try--?

Something crashed into him. From the side. Ettol flew into the wall, cracking it.

He didn't understand. What was it? He was too disoriented? Jonah? No. There was a fog in his vision. His senses. Something hiding there, right in front of him, even as it pinned him to the wall. As it punched him in the face. In the stomach. In the soul.

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It felt good to indulge for a change. So cathartic. Instead of holding back. Worrying about what others might think. What consequences might follow. What new webs he might need to spin.

A true god did not need to bother with such things, surely. Was this how Hada felt all the time?

It wasn't healthy, of course. Ettol knew that. Hada was not a role model. The God of Wrath had suffered plenty of blowback for his behavior--some of it at Ettol's own hands.

But he had no interest in any of that, right now.

And he shouldn't waste this chance, either. As much as tended to ruin things, there was also opportunity here. So much could be accomplished in these preciously rare moments when he didn't have to hold back.

When he didn't have to be the reasonable one, anymore.

The Windlight surged as he kept drawing on it. More. More. Deeper than he'd pulled in Ages--perhaps even deeper than this incarnation may ever get to try again.

Ettol's gaze fell upon the wolf. Sitting there in silence, watching as always.

An impenetrable fortress, that one. Even when suppressed.

But maybe now. In this moment of full indulgence. A seed could be sown. A psychic connection.

It was a risk, naturally. He truly did not know if he could even control it, much less if it would actually work. But if the wolf was to spell his inevitable doom, regardless, then was it not worth the try?

Damian was discarded. Left to fall, slowly, to the floor. Time was no longer itself. No longer so oppressive. Ettol moved at his own pace. Walking over to the wolf.

Ettol found the creature's head and went to work. A psychic incursion.

Instantly rebuffed.

As expected.

The Void's influence over the wolf was mercilessly strong. The others all said it was impossible to undermine.

But Ettol had never believed. Not fully. He still remembered the early days. When the wolf loved them all, not just their "father."

The Void did not create you, Koh. You were your own beast with your own mind.

The Prime Hunt was not all your existence amounted to.

Nothing. No response. No resonance.

Ettol took his time mourning yet another failure. There was no rush. He sat with the animal for a while. Just reminiscing on simpler times.

And then he moved on again.

To Nerovoy.