Memoirs Of Sands

*************

Wyatt Graves

As I descend through the void, darkness envelops me like a suffocating shroud, obscuring any semblance of sight. My senses are assaulted by an oppressive gas that seeps into my lungs, choking me with its noxious fumes. Thousands of disembodied hands claw at me from the shadows, their nails sharp and jagged, tearing at my flesh with each agonizing scrape.

I call for Blodwyn and Lily, but neither comes to me. I am alone in here.

I'm lost in this abyss, adrift in a sea of whatever Eldest has done. Thoughts swirl in my mind like scattered fragments of shattered glass, impossible to grasp or comprehend. That gas tunnels through my body, gripping my heart in a vice-like hold, squeezing the breath from my lungs as I plummet further into the unknown.

The hands continue to reach for me, their touch like icy tendrils creeping over my skin, leaving trails of pain and torment in their wake. I try to fight back, to push them away, but my efforts are futile against the relentless onslaught.

Time loses all meaning in this endless expanse of darkness, the minutes stretching into hours, the hours into days. I reach for my Ether, for my strength, for my body, for any of the many advantages I possess, and none respond. I am alone, alone without any powers.

And still, I fall.

With a roar as time gnaws into my nerves, I lash out at the hands once more, but they turn to that same gaseous darkness that eludes my palms. Fuck! What is this!? Is this Eldest's Dominion?

What's happening? Am I just going to fall for eternity in this place? Dammit! I thought his Dominion was like Eli's, allowing him to copy other's abilities, but I was wrong. This is his Sirza. A Motherbound has a Sirza.

Frustration creeps in alongside these fumes as I cough, endeavoring to clear my lungs, but it doesn't faze the invasive substance. Without a way to help that part, I squint my eyes, searching for something in the darkness. I know I can't move my Ether to use Insight, but Metamorphosises still doubly enhance my vision.

I peer into the darkness as my limbs are scraped against by infinitely uncomfortable hands. None of them use their claws, not that they have any. Every arm heading for me is those of humans, average in every metric, except for one.

Their veins twinkle with black and white, a silvery darkness.

As I notice the blood in their veins, I look down, finding the creeping gas invading me through my very skin. The color of the plague is identical to their veins. Sighing, I feel a scratchiness in my throat.

Fuck.

With a jarring thud, I land painfully on solid ground, the impact sending shockwaves of agony through my battered body as well as knocking the air out of my lungs. For a moment, I lie there, gasping for air, my senses reeling from the sudden cessation of motion. Then... then I tighten my jaw.

I have to get up. I cannot just lay down and die. With a painful shout, I shift onto my knees, looking upward. My position reminds me of how Lennon does his meditations, but I don't have time to fall into such recollections.

The night is still pervasive, with no light to even be sensed at the very edge of my peripherals, but the hands stop, instead only reaching far enough to scrape my scalp. The sensation is beyond simple discomfort and sends shrieks down my spine.

Nonetheless, hacking out my lungs with grim determination, I push myself upright and stagger to my feet, my muscles protesting every movement. I twist, pivoting my steps and whipping my head every which way, only to find nothing. Tightening a fist to focus, I choose a direction at random and begin to walk, each step a battle against the encroaching darkness that threatens to consume me.

The gaseous plague continues to infiltrate every fiber of my being, seeping into my bloodstream like a poison, clouding my thoughts and weighing down my limbs. I can feel it crawling through my veins, spreading like the disease I once thought Ma was afflicted with, corrupting every part of me it touches.

This is true Darklight. The substance I've seen before has never possessed such a force of mind. This plague here... it's alive. It's breathing. It's more than just a Dominion, and it isn't even fighting against me yet. It's waiting until it has the total advantage so I can do nothing but die or submit.

Despite the overwhelming affliction that threatens to engulf me, I press on, driven by what awaits me outside. Blodwyn needs me. Lily needs me. Virgil needs me. Bonfire needs me. Even... even my father needs me. We all fell under that Dominion. Killian Graves is the most likely to escape, but that leaves him alone against Eldest.

Each labored breath is a struggle, each faltering step taking me just a bit further. I do not know where I am going or what awaits me at the end of this journey, but I refuse to surrender to the darkness that threatens to consume me. I will not submit to the Mother Below.

So I walk, one foot in front of the other, each step a defiance followed by a curse against this God.

And... after what seems like an eternity, I find a seated man, his legs crossed and his arms still. Unable to believe my eyes, I walk around him, finding a missing hand on his wrist. It is... This man... he's so... mundane. His stature is short, his body thin, his muscles nonexistent, and his flesh malnourished. Yet, none of the gas flows for him. Unaware of anything else, I reach for the man—

The eyes open.

And then, a familiar voice reaches me. That of a long-dead man, whose name brings crippling headaches even to me on an attempt to recall.

"The first in a millennia to arrive here. Have you come willingly?"

I shake my head, confused by what Rem—ahhhh—by what the man is saying. Gripping my skull, I find the man grinning slightly as he stares at me. Still, he doesn't stand. In fact, he doesn't even move a bit other than the grin. He is perfectly motionless.

"I see."

Then, his eyes close once more. Bewildered, I look around for something, not knowing what's happening, only to be greeted by a sight that sends me onto my ass in shock.

As I stumble backward onto the ground, my heart pounding in my chest, I come face to face with the motionless behemoth before me. It is a colossal arachnid, identical in shape to the one in the Cathedral. The spider's twelve legs stretch out like twisted branches, each one ending in orbs of sweltering light. Eleven of them glow with an eerie, silvery darkness, while the twelfth remains ominously unlit.

I scramble to my feet, my mind racing with fear and confusion. With trembling hands, I raise my arm, ready to defend myself against this God, knowing it'd be futile. But to my surprise, the creature remains utterly still, as if frozen in time.

"She cannot hurt you yet. Though... your presence here is... wicked timing. Only a little while longer until the seal shatters. Unfortunately for you, I believe your soul will last here until it does so."

My attention shifts to the man speaking once more. I wave my hand at his closed eyes, frustrated by his lack of care.

"Hey! What are you doing? Do you not care if I die? You helped me before, remember?"

The man lifts open only one eye, apologizing swiftly before returning to his focus.

"We must have met somehow, and I do not remember. I have been here... for a long time. A thousand years ago, perhaps more, She came to our planet. After half a century of wars between Gods, I sealed her here with the sacrifice of many others. Many others. I must ask, child. Did he survive? My king? Did he escape Hell? I regret sending him there, but there was no other way he'd survive. I could not let him join me in this endeavor. He was needed for when she woke back up."

Knowing some of the Devil's past thanks to Aniwye and the God himself leaking it, I nod. The Timewarped Delver gave his life for his king and his world. I can tell that here.

"Yes. Louis Fern is alive."

A profound sigh, filled with the worries of untold years and endless pain, leaves the man's lungs. More and more questions bloom, however. Pieces begin to connect as I realize something, feeling stupid in the act.

"Was Louis Fern the first Angel of humanity?"

The Timewarped Delver nods with his eyes, not moving his body an inch. Still, the answer from his lungs is enough.

"Yes. Born a peasant and rising to be a king through his wits and unique aptitude for war before gaining a Sigil, my lord was the first to rise. If he survived, I can only assume he became the first Unnatural of our planet, too."

Returning the nod, I can't help but stare at the Mother Below. This is her form. The many-legged and many-eyed spider.

"Yes. He did do that. The Devil, they call him. Arbiter Of Chaos. The Red Judge."

A chuckle rings out, and Remin—fuck! The Timewarped Delver is pleased by my words, letting out some more history with each uttered word.

"Of course. I knew he could do it. We only theorized it was possible, after all. If constructs of Ether can reach such heights, it shouldn't be impossible for a creature to do the same, whether by shaping their own construct or turning themselves into their Concept. Oh... careful, young man. She is... rousing. Or... the stalled time is fading. I must wish you luck. I believe you shall need it all and then some to survive."

Listening to the man, I cautiously approach the spider, not wanting to just wait for my death. As I get underneath its shadow from the luminescent sands, I notice something peculiar about the spider's body. Grains of sand cover its sleek exoskeleton, each one carrying the weight of millennia upon its tiny shoulders. I step a tad bit closer, not even nearing it in the slightest, a shout coming an instant too late, and as my eyes widen in alarm, I am overwhelmed by a flood of memories.

First, it is those of a young man's life, a prodigy who grows to be the right-hand and most trusted ally of a soldier-king, one of the few Sigiled in the broad world. Then, time rapidly passes as demons grow in number rapidly, rushing from the edges of the horizon, running from a vast darkness that destroyed their civilization.

At first, they are welcomed and embraced, but they soon become genuine threats to all the creatures on the surface, the taint wrought upon their flesh invading anything and everything. Armies gather, and cities and countries fall. Whole races are wholly wiped out.

Within ten years, the world is reduced to just a few races from the hundreds that used to roam. The wily Pygmies. The durable and warmongering Nahullo. The blessed Grayskins. The nimble Bado. And finally, the ingenious humans.

Together, they all rally together, meeting the onslaught of tainted demons head-on. So desperate for aid, they even recruit some demons, those not tainted by the Darklight due to their own mights. Leviathan, Behemoth, and Mammon show their power not to be any less than that of the human king the now-grown man adores with his all.

In this man's eyes, the king, Louis Fern, is perfect. He cares for the weak, protects them, and allows them to prosper. He gives his blood for anyone, seeing all life as worthy of protection. The king is fair, so strictly fair, that it aligns precisely with the man's method of thought, his own skill in Ether prodigious.

Battle wages, lives are lost, and Mammon is turned against the alliance, the Darklight invading him. The moment he is, the other two demons run, too, refusing to help now that their mentor has fallen. Without any more Heirlooms to come, the alliance loses a great deal of strength. The mortals, newly guided by Sigils, plead for the Gods' help, which they have worshipped for all their lives, but the help does not come in the way they want it to.

The help only comes as Gods are also converted, the selfish beings of nature finally seeing the disaster, only too late for most. From once spanning the whole planet, civilization is ripped to only a single mediocre-sized continent in the corner of the most extensive ocean. The reason?

It is the Soldier-King's home. And he refused to let life as he knew it fall to the corruption. By this time, his strength had grown to an incredible level, capable of threatening even some of the weaker Gods, so he descended toward Hell, where the Gods were doing battle to join them.

He was not alone, however. Thousands joined him while all the remaining races gathered together at a massive set of Onyx walls built by Mammon before his passing, prepared to defend what was theirs. In the end, none returned. The vision does not tell of what happens after they descend, only having the surety that none come back from the Gate of Death.

Time passes as battles are waged against Demigods, including several fights against Gorgeous and Ireful, but there is no mention of Eldest. By the time the first tainted God is killed by them, six lives remain. Two humans. One Nahullo. One Pygmy. One Bado. And one Grayskin. No demons elected to join this expedition, preferring their chances alone.

Still, none was willing to put down their blades. And so, upon the deepest regions of Hell, millions of dead around the now-Demigods, and a single Angel, being the man himself, they embark onto the true battleground, the only place in the world that could endure such war. The heart of the planet.

Purgatory, the prison of the Gods, the core of their planet.

The man feels inadequate and not equal in power to the others, but none treat him as such, as he stares them all down one last time.

Kaisen Ulren, the Saint Of Scythes, the strongest Nahullo.

Teryn, the Lady Of Words, the strongest Pygmy.

Skyclaimer, the Feathers Of Hope, the strongest Bado.

Hiesch Garovel, the Road Of Shadows, the strongest Grayskin.

Louis Fern, the Hand Of Justice, the strongest creature.

And finally, there was him. There was... Re... Remin... Remington Shaw. The Blessed One, the grandest tactician.

It is together they enter the depths of the planet, piercing past the Underworld and Hell, and now stepping foot into the superheated core. Hell is sweltering, but it is nothing compared to Purgatory. The wars waged shake my mind, bringing my consciousness back to reason for a moment.

Gods fall non-stop, the once hundreds of beings, composed from many different planets in the surrounding regions of space or nearby planes rushing to aid the bastion against... against Her and Hers. But it is not enough. Sigils are too few in number in this place, this place bereft of such a power as this... this God. With Her arrival, however, Sigils, even those distant from Her, came with Her, strengthening the inhabitants enough to fight back.

But is it enough? Natural Gods are not as wise as the Unnatural. They do not possess the advantages. They are Ether, given minds and souls but not inherent wisdom. Without that wisdom, they die or convert far more rapidly than even the Demigods, barring the oldest of the Gods, like those of Death, Knowledge, and Horizon.

One by one, even those Demigods fall. Skyclaimer is the first to die, shortly followed by Teryn. Succinctly, only four remain. Within the next year, Kaisen falls to the invader's whims, unable to resist the allure of such power. The Saint Of Scythes becomes a God, but not the kind he expected.

In the end, only three stand. The two humans and a lone Grayskin. The memories of time consolidate, focusing upon this moment, unlike all others that wash by. In this scene of intensity, the man sits at a table with two others, the speaker being a man with skin more like dark marble than flesh.

"Usen is too strong. There... there is no way we kill her, even with Kudo's help, Louis. Five against... sixty? Before, it was the opposite... All the realms near us have evacuated or died already. I think... I think it's time to give up. If you two help me move the Boulevard—"

The king, who has long forgotten his crown in some battle, cuts off Hiesch. He is not annoyed nor furious at the Demigod's suggestion. He is simply... tired.

"We cannot do that, my friend. She will follow us no matter where we go. No realm is distant enough to save us. You know this, and so do I. Even Remington is in agreement."

With Louis Fern's words, the attention falls to the man's memories. Both Demigods look to me as I find myself answering them with transparent terms.

"Yes. That is the case. She has our soul's signatures. We will never get away. But... I have a plan. It won't kill her, but it will... seal her away for a while. It's our only option—to hope that those who come after can stand on our shoulders and be better. We need an Unnatural God to finish this. No. We need multiple as she has some herself."

Hiesch sighs, the tall and lanky man of inky skin with clouds of darkness for eyes, tapping his head against the table. Then, with his head down, he asks a question.

"You still believe in that theory?"

I—Remington nods as the man, vastly more intelligent than I, spits out his reasonings. They are sound and built upon fact.

"Yes. We can rise. It is just... absurdly tricky without help from one. And... I don't believe She has an 11th or 12th. I believe she is just a hyper-powerful, Unnatural God."

The man who eventually becomes the Devil, precisely what Remington speaks of, bops the table with his index and middle fingers.

"About this plan. What does it entail?"

"I will seal her in time, giving all that I have ever used or stored, and even more if needed. But... I need to reach her. For that... for that, we need a distraction."

With his head still down, Hiesch volunteers before Louis can say a singular word.

"I'll do it. They'll leap at the chance to convert or kill me due to how hard I am to catch. However, if they get me, the Boulevard will likely be compromised. And no, Louis. You can't do this. If any of us are to do the impossible, it's you. You need to live to guide the next of us. You need to be the one to protect the Lighthouses."

Louis Fern bursts out of his seat at Heisch's suggestion and points at the two of them with fury. He is positively livid at their wanted sacrifices, knowing what will come.

"No! I will be the sacrifice. It is only fitting. I will not let either of you—"

A hooded figure with tattered clothes and a scythe appears beside Louis Fern's position as the man vanishes. Alongside the Goddess, another God emerges, a construct of paper and leather in a humanoid shape.

Remington stands up in concern as he points to... Death?

"Kudo! Gluskab?! What did you two do?"

The reaper bows her head as a smooth voice comes from beneath the cloth. It possesses the very essence of death, luring one to a delicate end.

"We have sent him to Hell. He will only impede the sealing. You must remember, we do not have much time before the two of us succumbs enough not to be fit to fight."

Remington's ire falls at her reasons, but Hiesch remains pissed off. He stomps right up to the Pale Lady, poking her chest with a stiff finger.

"He loves you, you bitch! Fuck! You're just gonna let him fight his way back to us? Do you know how many Gods are behind us stuck in Hell!? There are... so many."

Gluskab nods sagely, the humanoid figure lifting a hand to Hiesch's shoulder. He appears to be caring and wise, just as his Godhood would allude to.

"Indeed. But he is more likely to slaughter his way out than to survive this. Remington? Are you ready for this? You're the star, after all."

Remington's lip shivers as the man inhales heavily. His thoughts linger on his king, the man he's devoted his life to, but he is able to concentrate.

"When I told you about this plan, I thought we'd get his permission. But... yeah. I'm ready. I already sent back a few things through Hiesch's access to the Boulevard, just in case. Let's go. It's not like Apisirahts will come and help, after all."

The memories immediately speed up again, shifting through a harrowing series of events. Two Gods, a Demigod, and a Virtue, rush through the melted atmosphere of Purgatory to find their enemy. She continually spreads her Darklight, growing in strength with each conversion.

The plan proceeds as predicted, with Hiesch acting as bait while Death and Gluskab fight the many Gods in an ambush. Swiftly, however, they lose the advantage, falling back while Remington lies in wake. Eventually, the Goddess Herself comes for Hiesch to convert him, to taint him with Her light as Kaisen's wretched form stands over the Grayskin.

One of her twelve legs descends toward the Demigod with that pervasive Darklight readied. That is when Remington exits the River Of Time, leaping out with a raised hand.

Kaisen immediately retaliates with a scythe, only for Gluskab to materialize in front of him, the God becoming information itself to travel instantly. Yet the God of Knowledge is no warrior. With a grin, though, he meets the scythe, allowing it to sink into his form. Darklight swims into the paper and leather, but the two vanish into nothingness, never to be seen again with a calm word.

"Nothing deserves to be forgotten. Not even you, my child o' war. Come. Let me show you one last horizon."

Still, part of Kaisen's sharpness invades Remington's flesh, precisely his arm. Grunting, he removes the hand as it begins to go to war with itself, the Darklight and Concept of War stopped at the gates. With Gluskab and Kaisen's disappearance, Usen, better known as the Mother Below, stabs two legs toward both of the men below Her. However, Remington cannot move. He is now seated with crossed arms and moving lips. His words are inaudible, even to me, the observer, as he seems to pray toward Ether itself to aid his concentration.

Hiesch looks up at the falling orbs and sighs, his words the last thing Remington hears.

"It was an honor, Blessed One. I knew you were special when I saw you in his court for the very first time. Old enemies to the best of friends. How things have changed. Do not let your king down. If you do, I'll crawl back and haunt you, haha."

In spite of his focus, Remington hears Hiesch's death cry as the Grayskin gives his life to protect him. That proclamation of faith only manages to send Remington into a more profound focus. Ether swirls in his hands as I watch something form that is on par with the Crimson Court, nestled wholly within the Shaw's palms. Unlike the Crimson Court, however, it manifests in only a moment and with a thousand times the concentration.

Then, there is only darkness with trailing sands and a broken soul as it attempts to leash a being leagues above itself. It is in this darkness that voices wash over Remington without a knowledge end. Time stretches infinitely as the Timewarped Delver holds on with his everything.

"Eternity. You Desire? Pain. Eternity. Always. Me. Free. Eventually."

A million-fold overlayed voice cuts into Remington's strained consciousness, shattering it into a million pieces. Then, that ball of Ether in his hand, through the darkness, rewinds it all. His soul is put back together, yet it knows the pain of being shattered. And again, it is. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. The instant the soul is rebuilt by time's ever-meandering flow, brought to heel by the limitless talent of man, it is once again ravaged.

For all of eternity.