NOXIEL

 

A rose lay idly within a pool of blood, then wilted, as though a blight had sapped its form in an instant. The scene dissolved into a vast canopy littered with the gore of countless impaled. A fetid wind beat against Noxiel’s face. For a moment, the skinthief wondered if he’d perhaps seized a hawk in his sleep, and now peered through its eyes on the eve of some massacre. Pangs in his abdomen accompanied the familiar, aged voice of Mother Morrigane, echoing from all sides.

 

"Under the moon’s pallid, unyielding gaze,
A specter stirs where murmurs blaze;
Oaths etched in crimson, the sigil decays,
Yet hunter and hunted now twist in their maze.

Rise, Hive Witch. The Bane of Xavas draws near."

 

The array of sensations melted into a suffocating, dissociative darkness that left him reeling for relief.

 

Consciousness returned to Noxiel Anima in the form of a painful thud, his slumber within the submerged Temple of Psithos interrupted by the bludgeoning of steel beams to his side. Streams of saltwater burst through the adjacent wall, soaking his bunk; though more alarming still was the guttural roar that proceeded from the ocean depths below. Amidst shock and delirium, he had the mind to collect his rucksack and buzzing gourd before seawater filled his chamber. His long, charcoal robes, thoroughly soaked, clung to his pale skin and chestnut hair. Maneuvering through the floating debris of the hallway, he ascended the temple staircase and emerged onto the moonlit deck. Whatever assaulted their temple sanctuary had yet to reveal itself, and the panic among the acolytes was palpable.

 

Jesan the shrine attendant, a pulse rifle shaking furiously in her unskilled hands, turned to the Archmagus Baraza.

 

“By the Ancients, what creature could wail thus?!”

 

Baraza appeared dumbstruck.

 

“The Charybdis...Aris, activate the escape pod! We haven’t much!..”

 

The Archmagus’ orders were cut short by the bellow’s return, this time deafening. The acolytes fell to their knees, faces clenched and hands cuffed tightly around their ears. Two white tentacles erupted from the depths. They were tall as monoliths: fleshy pillars casting shadows the length of the stone platform. Sharpened hooks, reminiscent of scimitars, lined their sides. One coiled around the great Omekunda tree at the center of the temple, the other demolishing the escape pod with terrifying ease.

 

A tri-tonal retching echoed from the ocean depths. Noxiel recognized the maligned tongue.

 

“The fiend weaves the Vox Crucifixus; silence it!” Noxiel screamed against the commotion.

 

The tentacles gripped a giant branch of the Omekunda tree, severing it with ease. Plummeting, wooden columns crushed the unsuspecting Jesan to a pulp. Noxiel scowled, the unfolding carnage before him fueling his disdain for their coven's ancient foe. He would see the single mother from Jokka avenged.

 

Noxiel ripped the cork from atop his gourd. Like a plume of rising smoke, a legion of incensed, violet wasps billowed from its opening. He seized their skins as he had on countless occasions, his eyes turning pale and opaque as the moon overhead. Puppeteering a thousand venomous syringes, he swarmed the tentacle. It writhed and shriveled from the temple deck, though the creature’s psionic weave continued unabated."

​

 

VAEDA

 

The psionics laboratory of Psithos was a place of quiet intensity, a sanctum of flickering candlelight and the faint hum of psychic resonance. Vaeda Raine stood at the center of the room, her hands moving with practiced precision over the alchemical apparatus before her. The air was thick with the scent of Omekunda sap, a pungent, earthy aroma that clung to the back of her throat. The sap, a viscous, golden liquid, shimmered with an inner light as it dripped into the crucible, mingling with the other reagents—ground obsidian, powdered starflower, and a single drop of her own blood. The Astrilis Poultice was no simple concoction; it was a work of art, a symphony of psychic and alchemical forces that required absolute focus. Vaeda’s dark eyes narrowed as she whispered the incantation, her voice a low, resonant murmur that seemed to vibrate through the very walls of the laboratory. The Shroud responded to her call, its invisible threads weaving through the mixture, imprinting it with the essence of foresight.

 

Her motivations were clear, though they weighed heavily on her mind. Mother Morrigane’s prophecy had sent ripples of unease through the coven, and Vaeda knew that the fate of the galaxy might hinge on the clarity of the oracle’s vision. The ancient vendetta that loomed over them was a shadow too vast to comprehend, a threat that defied the boundaries of time and space. If the poultice could pierce the veil that clouded Morrigane’s sight, it might give them the knowledge they needed to avert catastrophe. Vaeda’s hands trembled slightly as she stirred the mixture, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of responsibility. She had seen too much suffering in her life—enslavement, betrayal, the cruelty of the Umbral Cartel—to let this opportunity slip away. The poultice was more than a duty; it was her chance to strike back against the forces that sought to reduce humanity to pawns.

 

The laboratory shuddered violently, the sudden tremor nearly causing Vaeda to spill the precious mixture. The roar that followed was unlike anything she had ever heard—a guttural, otherworldly sound that seemed to reverberate through her very bones. Her heart raced as she sealed the crucible, the poultice now a swirling, opalescent liquid that glowed faintly in the dim light. She strapped the container to her belt and grabbed her needle rifle, the weapon’s weight a familiar comfort in her hands. The machete at her side felt like an extension of her will, its blade already thrumming with the corrosive energies of her blightbending. She moved swiftly, her robes billowing behind her as she ascended the stairs to the temple deck.

 

The scene that greeted her was one of chaos. The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light casting an eerie glow over the carnage. The Omekunda tree, a symbol of the coven’s clairvoyant prowess, was being torn asunder by monstrous tentacles that rose from the depths like the limbs of some ancient god. Noxiel was already in the fray, his swarm of violet wasps a blur of motion as they assailed the creature. Vaeda’s lips curled into a grim smile. She had always admired his skill, even if his aloof demeanor made him difficult to read. But there was no time for admiration now. The Charybdis’s presence was a violation, a blight upon the sanctity of Psithos, and she would not let it go unchallenged.

 

Vaeda raised her needle rifle, the weapon’s barrel glowing faintly as she channeled her blightbending through it. The first shot struck one of the tentacles, the corrosive energy eating away at its flesh like acid. The creature recoiled, its bellowing roar shaking the temple to its foundations. Vaeda moved with purpose, her steps deliberate as she circled the deck, her rifle spitting bolts of inverted energy. Each shot was a calculated strike, aimed at the creature’s weakest points. But the Charybdis was no mere beast; it was a force of chaos, a being that defied the laws of nature. Its tentacles lashed out with terrifying speed, forcing Vaeda to dive and roll to avoid their crushing blows. She could feel the strain of her blightbending taking its toll, the corrosive energies sapping her strength even as they ravaged the creature.

 

It was then that Archmagus Baraza stepped forward, his presence a calming force amidst the turmoil. His voice rang out, clear and commanding, as he began to weave the counter-weave. The air around him shimmered, the Shroud bending to his will as he invoked the ancient words of power. The Charybdis’s roar faltered, its movements slowing as the counter-weave took hold. For a moment, the temple was enveloped in a fragile peace, the creature’s assault momentarily halted. Vaeda seized the opportunity, her eyes locking with Noxiel’s as they prepared for the next wave of the battle. The reprieve was brief, but it was enough to steel their resolve. The Charybdis would not take Psithos without a fight.

 

​

NOXIEL

 

The skinthief appreciated the moment of reprieve, but he could not savor it. He continued his psychic assault. The venom of his Bane Wasps had turned swathes of rubbery flesh black and necrotic. Ribbons of corrosion ripped through the tentacle which had released the Omekunda tree at last.

 

An onslaught of hellish speech rose from the sea once again.  Noxiel turned to Baraza. The Archmagus, visibly struggling to counteract the Charybdis’s weave, tore his cloak from his shoulders. Tangles of cables anchored to his shoulder lit up in brilliant turquoise, siphoning ambient energy from the environment and converting it into animus for his invocation. Noxiel understood well the desperate nature of such a tool.

 

Muffled as they were, the Charybdis’s vile words penetrated the skies. The clouds whipped and roared with each command, swirling into violent cyclones. Lightning ripped through the ether, illuminating a mural of hellish hues that sent shivers down Noxiel’s spine. The sea too churned with discontent, generating a colossal whirlpool that engulfed the entire temple sanctuary. At its center, a nexus of destructive energy crackled into being, chipping away the temple’s foundation with alarming speed. The psi-conversion cables, now buried deep within Baraza’s now sizzling flesh, turned white and glowed with renewed intensity. Agony spread across the Archmagus' face, his voice pained as the psychic duel pressed on.

 

“Vaeda, if the Charybdis completes its weave, Psithos will collapse into the ocean. We-”.

 

The shattering of Baraza’s invocation cut short Noxiel’s warning, a nova of ghostly light erupting across the sea. Six fresh tentacles emerged from the waters, these larger and more nefarious. As though brandishing a dozen arbalests, the whole area of their exposed flesh was covered in meter-long barbs, each turning toward the temple. One after the other, they bombarded the deck with calculated precision. The first pierced the chest of Rin, the crew’s chef, pinning her to the base of the splintered Omekunda. The second decapitated Vaden the gunner, who'd still been scrambling to mount an offense against the fiend. Tendrils of crimson sprawled across the gore-littered deck.

 

For its next assault, the Charybdis showered the deck with a wide spray of barbs and ichor. Noxiel projected a long, psychic claw from his forefinger. With a series of quick slices, he shredded two of the incoming projectiles, though a third pierced his right leg. Blood further soaked his robes. 

 

Baraza and Vaeda had suffered grevious injuries as well. One barb pierced the Archmagus’ left side while another protruded from Vaeda’s shoulder. 

 

“Spill your tonics of regrowth, Vaeda. Heal our wounds,” Noxiel said curling over in pain.

​

 

VAEDA

 

The pain in Vaeda’s shoulder was a white-hot lance, searing through her nerves and threatening to overwhelm her focus. She gritted her teeth, her free hand clutching the wound as ichor dripped from the barb embedded in her flesh. The Charybdis’s assault was relentless, its monstrous form a blur of motion and destruction. Around her, the temple deck was a nightmare of splintered wood, shattered stone, and the broken bodies of her comrades. Rin’s lifeless form hung grotesquely from the Omekunda tree, her blood pooling beneath her, while Vaden’s headless body lay sprawled near the edge of the platform. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of ichor, a nauseating reminder of the stakes they faced.

 

Noxiel’s voice cut through the chaos, his tone urgent but steady. Vaeda’s dark eyes flicked to him, taking in the sight of his blood-soaked robes and the barb protruding from his leg. Baraza, too, was wounded, his face pale and drawn as he struggled to maintain his counter-weave. Vaeda’s mind raced, her thoughts a whirlwind of pain and determination. She had no time to dwell on the carnage around her; survival demanded action. With a grimace, she reached for the satchel at her side, her fingers trembling as they closed around the vials of regrowth tonics she had prepared earlier. The glass was cool against her skin, the liquids within shimmering faintly with the psychic energy she had imbued them with.

 

She moved quickly, her movements deliberate despite the agony in her shoulder. With a swift motion, she uncorked the vials and spilled their contents onto the temple deck. The tonics pooled on the stone, their colors swirling together in a kaleidoscope of greens, blues, and golds. Vaeda whispered the incantation, her voice a low, resonant hum that seemed to vibrate through the air. The Shroud responded to her call, its invisible threads weaving through the spilled tonics and transforming them into a rising vapor. The mist was cool and soothing, carrying with it the faint scent of herbs and ozone. It enveloped the wounded, its healing energies seeping into their injuries and knitting flesh back together.

 

Vaeda felt the effects immediately, the pain in her shoulder dulling to a manageable ache as the barb dissolved into nothingness. She glanced at Noxiel and Baraza, noting the way their wounds began to close, the blood flow slowing to a trickle. But the healing was incomplete, the tonics unable to fully mend the damage inflicted by the Charybdis’s barbs. Vaeda’s jaw tightened as she surveyed the battlefield, her mind racing to formulate a plan. The Charybdis’s tentacles loomed overhead, their barbs glinting in the moonlight like the teeth of some monstrous predator. The creature’s guttural roars echoed across the sea, a constant reminder of the danger they faced.

 

She gripped her needle rifle tightly, the weapon’s weight a reassuring presence in her hands. The corrosive energies of her blightbending thrummed through the barrel, ready to be unleashed. Vaeda’s eyes narrowed as she focused on the Charybdis, her mind calculating the best angle of attack. She knew they couldn’t afford to waste this brief respite; the creature’s next assault would be even more devastating. With a deep breath, she steadied herself, her resolve hardening like tempered steel. The Charybdis had taken too much from them already. She would not let it take Psithos.

 

As the vapor of the regrowth tonics began to dissipate, Vaeda stepped forward, her movements fluid and purposeful. She raised her needle rifle, her finger tightening on the trigger as she took aim at one of the Charybdis’s massive tentacles. The weapon spat a bolt of inverted energy, the corrosive blast eating away at the creature’s flesh. Vaeda’s lips curled into a grim smile as she prepared to fire again, her mind already racing ahead to the next move. The battle was far from over, but she was ready to fight until her last breath.

 

​

NOXIEL

 

Noxiel clutched his injured limb. Vaeda’s psychic restoratives had stopped the bleeding, but the wound remained. Clouds of curative mist dissipated, revealing the remaining tentacles, their barbs coiling into position for another assault. From bedeviled skies, bolts of lightning struck the broken Omekunda tree. Flames engulfed its massive trunk, the boiling sap spewing from its crevices accompanied by another round of barbs.

 

“Kangeh, eczerakpesh,” Noxiel shouted in the Vox Somnia. His weave echoed through the space, invoking the Shroud through strict tones. Synesthesia blurred his senses. Whispers of the deceased Archmagus Synodia flooded his mind, pieces of her memory momentarily his own. Her power swelled within him, stretching beyond his fingertips and briefly manifesting as a semi-corporeal shield overhead. The barrier intercepted a scattering of barbs before collapsing under the might of the Charybdis’s fury. 

 

A wave of pain rebounded through the skinthief’s body, forcing him to wince. Another barb had lodged itself in his left shoulder, and the surrounding blaze was spreading at an alarming rate. As he gazed upon his fellow psions, he noticed fresh barbs in Vaeda’s leg and another through Baraza’s abdomen. It was readily donning on Noxiel just how dire their situation had become. He jerked toward the Charybdis, rage twisting his features as he tapped the eternal Shroud. His eyes regained their pale hue. Lips motionless, he unleashed a silent wail in the demon’s direction: a palpable manifestation of his psychic rage and contempt. Blood hemorrhaged from the creature's eyes and mouth, its internal organs bruised and inflamed. Even so, the creature’s chanting continued, hellbent on completing its invocation. 

 

Noxiel’s assault had left the skinthief dangerously fatigued. His vision began to blur, his stance wavering. He wondered for how much longer he could endure, and whether their temple sanctuary of Psithos would serve as his undersea grave.

 

Baraza turned to Vaeda, then Noxiel with a most solemn gaze. Love and regret burned in the old man's eyes. He tore the psi-converters from his chest in a grizzly display. Noxiel knew well what the Archmagus intended. 

 

“Baraza, don’t! There must be another way!” Noxiel shouted amid the commotion.

 

“Forget not our course nor our cause, young magi,” Baraza said. He drew the forbidden Soul Barb from his robes, a thin, onyx blade, and held it directly above his ribcage. Markings along its shaft, infused with the Archmagus’ psychic intent, beamed a crimson glow, foreshadowing the macabre task at hand.  

 

The Archmagus pierced his left ventricle with one forceful plunge. Blood poured from the wound, then congealed into a swirling portal of luminescent red that shattered the Soul Barb in an explosive burst. Baraza’s flesh cracked and withered like burnt embers, leaving behind naught but ash to vanish in the wind. 

 

Noxiel analyzed the conjured Shroud anomaly. He knew not where it led, but thought he could discern a great pyramid behind the frenzied, psychic energy. 

 

The Pyramid of Nithmori? he wondered. He could hardly process what was occurring before him: the sacrifice of his beloved friend and mentor, the possibility of their imminent death. Noxiel’s vision dimmed as he lurched toward the portal with what little of his strength remained. 

 

“Through the gate, blightbender! We mustn’t let Baraza’s sacrifice be in vain,” the skinthief said to his longtime companion. 

 

​

VAEDA

 

The flames from the burning Omekunda tree roared higher, their heat searing Vaeda’s skin even as the acrid smoke stung her eyes. The Charybdis’s barbs rained down around her, each one a deadly projectile that threatened to end the battle in an instant. Her leg throbbed where the barb had struck, the wound only partially healed by her tonics. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to focus through the pain. The temple deck was a nightmare of fire, blood, and chaos, the air thick with the stench of burning sap and ichor. Vaeda’s mind raced, her thoughts a whirlwind of desperation and determination. They were outmatched, outnumbered, and out of time.

 

Noxiel’s silent wail had bought them a brief reprieve, the Charybdis’s grotesque form recoiling as blood poured from its eyes and mouth. But the creature’s chanting continued, its guttural voice a relentless drumbeat that seemed to shake the very foundations of Psithos. Vaeda’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched Baraza tear the psi-converters from his flesh, his face a mask of grim resolve. She knew what he intended, and the realization struck her like a physical blow. The Archmagus had been a mentor, a protector, and a father figure to her since the day he had freed her from the clutches of Lady Luthra Crucis. To see him sacrifice himself now, in this moment of utter despair, was almost more than she could bear.

 

“Baraza, no!” Vaeda’s voice was raw with emotion, but her cry was drowned out by the Charybdis’s roar. She watched in horror as the Archmagus plunged the Soul Barb into his chest, his blood congealing into a swirling portal of crimson light. The sight of his body crumbling to ash was a wound that cut deeper than any barb. Vaeda’s vision blurred with tears, but she forced herself to focus. Baraza’s sacrifice had opened a path to survival, and she would not let his death be in vain.

 

The portal shimmered with chaotic energy, its surface rippling like a storm-tossed sea. For a brief moment, Vaeda thought she saw the Pyramid of Nithmori through the crimson haze, its ancient stones glowing with an otherworldly light. But before she could react, the Charybdis’s guttural chanting reached a crescendo. The creature’s massive form shuddered as it cast a final, devastating weave, its psychic energy distorting the very fabric of the Shroud. The image of the pyramid wavered, then dissolved, replaced by the cold, metallic gleam of a giant sphere suspended in the void. The sphere was immense, its surface etched with intricate patterns that seemed to pulse with a faint, rhythmic light. It was a sight both awe-inspiring and terrifying, a symbol of power and mystery that sent a chill down Vaeda’s spine.

 

“Noxiel!” Vaeda shouted, her voice barely audible over the Charybdis’s roar. She stumbled toward the portal, her injured leg threatening to give out with every step. The skinthief was already moving, his pale eyes fixed on the shifting image within the portal. Vaeda reached out, her fingers brushing against his arm as they both lurched toward the crimson gateway. The Charybdis’s tentacles lashed out, their barbs slicing through the air with deadly precision, but it was too late. The portal’s pull was irresistible, its psychic energy enveloping them like a tidal wave.

 

Vaeda’s vision blurred as the world around her dissolved into a whirlwind of light and sound. The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was the Charybdis’s massive form receding into the distance, its guttural roar fading into silence. Then there was only darkness, a void that swallowed her whole.