The concept of Zodiark, the will of the star embodied, was new, but the concepts required to facilitate His summoning were not.
They required floating platforms high in the heavens and aetheric confluences to ride to reach them. These were the same that had been used by Fandaniel many a time in Ktisis Hyperborea. Thus was the Convocation of Thirteen able to reach the spot twelve malms above the surface of Etheirys where they had projected the people’s hopes and prayers would be best able to reach Elidibus.
Mitron provided small, personal bubbles of air, a tool of which she and hers made regular use when observing the depths of the seas. Thus were they able to breathe in what might technically be considered “outer space”.
And whisperweed had long been used to transmit messages across many and more malms — high though the stratosphere was, it paled in comparison to the diameter of Etheirys, and so whisperweed was more than sufficient for this task.
From the uppermost of their aetheric platforms the Thirteen looked down on their beloved star ablaze, and a hush fell over them. Each of them could see the precise expressions on the others’ faces; there was no need to hide behind their masks at this most desperate, most pivotal of times.
“It’s all…” Altima looked faint as she watched the fire rain down on Etheirys below them.
“We shall set this right.” Elidibus strode forward to the center of the platform and lifted a tuft of whisperweed to his lips. “We are in position,” he reported. Thus could the Convocation’s assistants and adjutants far, far, below them inform the citizens of Etheirys that the Thirteen were in place and ready to begin the summoning.
(Many and more of those who had chosen to surrender their all to the birth of their savior were, in all likelihood, already deep in prayer. But the Convocation of Thirteen was naught if not thorough.)
Emet-Selch could just picture Hythlodaeus dozens of malms below him in the very heart of Amaurot: Up until the very last he would be smiling. He would chat with those gathered around as though this were a fine summer picnic, comfort those who had chosen the same path as him but who might be feeling afraid now at the moment of sacrifice, even reassure those who had chosen not to relinquish their own aether that no, they were not being selfish, the star yet had need of them and their talents.
(As though it had no such need of his—)
Elidibus turned toward the others. “Already I can feel it. Their hopes and prayers feel so warm…” His hand went to his breast and he smiled fondly. Indeed, Emet-Selch could see the first of the souls ascending from Etheirys below, rising higher, oh higher, to dance around the man who would become the very heart of Zodiark.
“Elidibus…” Loghrif smiled sadly. “This is farewell, then…”
Fandaniel looked away, blinking back tears. “It’s not fair, damn it!”
And then everything went to hell.
A black haze rose up around Fandaniel. Before anyone could react, a swirl of nearby aether collapsed in on itself, giving way to one of those horrific beasts.
“No, not here!” Halmarut exclaimed. That same darkness swirled around her. “Not now that we have come so far!”
“Get a hold of yourself!” Lahabrea snapped. “Do not allow the despair to—”
Before he could finish speaking, three more terminus beasts had manifested.
Emet-Selch strode forward, greatsword at the ready. “We can unmake these creatures as easily as we have made them,” he said. “With me! Keep them away from Elidibus that we might buy him the time he requires!”
This was easier said than done. Like their predecessors before them, these monsters cared only to destroy what stood in their way, and would not surrender until they were wholly vanquished. An idle part of Emet-Selch’s mind wondered about the forms they took — why some were ghastly floating beasts in tattered robes, while others were giant bombs and still others nearly-nude women — but the Words of Lahabrea had devoted many a moon to that question and come up empty.
“Be–behind you!” Fandaniel exclaimed. He shot a gust of wind at a bomb that had snuck up behind Emet-Selch.
“Piss off!” Nabriales kicked one of the ghouls square in its chest and sent it flying back, off the platform to (one could only hope) burn up as it fell through the atmosphere. “Can the lot of you not calm down?! We are so close now—”
The Convocation consisted, primarily, of desk-bound bureaucrats. Skilled at creation magicks though they may be, battle was none of their forte. Lahabrea, Nabriales, and Emet-Selch were the most adept; they managed to keep the pressure off Elidibus for now, but if fear continued to beget fear, they would soon be overwhelmed.
For his part Elidibus still stood there, hands outstretched toward the countless souls that were now soaring up and up and up to greet him. Emet-Selch caught sight of a familiar shade of lavender, and his vision nearly went black.
No! This had been Hythlodaeus’ choice. If Emet-Selch fell to despair now, what would it all be for?
He let out a frustrated growl and shook off the gloom, whirling to plunge his blade through the chest of a beast that had chosen to move toward Elidibus.
A gigantic swell of dark aether surrounded the Emissary now. Not the blackness of despair, but the Darkness of life and creation. Countless souls shone within that inky dark like innumerable stars in the night sky above. It nigh brought a tear to Emet-Selch’s eye, and so he fought on. How could he do any less?
He had to hold on.
Just a little longer. Just a little more.
This sort of thing — the heat of battle, hopeless odds against a daunting foe — was precisely what that person excelled at. If he and the rest of the Fourteen could only keep going until they deigned to show their face—
The memory trampled over him like a stampede of melanion. They aren’t coming.
All went black around him.
“Emet-Selch!” Lahabrea exclaimed. “Pull yourself together!”
Emet-Selch went to his hands and knees. His blade clattered to the ground beside him. This final misbegotten fiend loomed larger than life, larger than any they had thus far seen.
“No,” Fandaniel whispered. “No, it’s too much…”
One by one, they each of them took a fearful step backward, but were stymied by the edge of their platform. The haze of despair wreathed even Lahabrea as the horrible creation roared and plunged down toward the Thirteen.
Only to be stopped in its tracks by a great barrier, then flung backward by one of six muscular arms.
The Dark swell of aether that had surrounded Elidibus dispersed, and there He was.
Zodiark, beautiful Zodiark, lifted His hands toward the beast and entrapped it within aetheric chains. It writhed and thrashed for only a moment before He crushed it into nothingness.
The Darkness poured forth like waves lapping at the shore. The haze surrounding the Convocation dissolved as easily as though it had never been.
And they gazed down upon their star, their Etheirys, as its very will embodied spread His wings and descended.
Long minutes passed before anyone dared to speak.
“This long nightmare is over at last,” Mitron sighed. She reached over to grab Loghrif’s hand. “Let us go home.”
The Convocation donned their masks and cowls and, one by one, turned to return to the aetheric confluences that would ferry them back down to the surface.
Emet-Selch scowled to himself. Yes, he thought; it would be very nice indeed to go home.