Elements of Disharmony part 10

>There is a swirl of energy as you arrive, the Space Marine Sorcerer to his credit neither stumbling away or whirling about in shock.

>He draws his weapons and scans carefully, before returning them to their positions.

>You are the first to speak.

“Welcome, Sorcerer, to my tower. As per our Agreement, I shall open my library and Scroll rack to you, however I must ask you return the books acquisitioned in pristine form.”

>The Sorcerer follows behind you as you walk towards the staircase.

>You descend from the crown of your tower, down past the boarding rooms, and into your study.

>Various books move about, bewitched as they sort in a constant game of space management.

>”I take it this is your library?”

>You shake your head, but he cannot see it beneath your hood.

“No, that is one level down. This is simply where I keep my most used books.”

>A thick, heavy tome labled ‘The Art of War’ floats past, sliding neatly into a shelf.

>The Sorcerer grabs a random book and flips it open, scanning the table of contense.

“Shermanator is down in town, probably getting some form of nourishment. On that subject-“

>You cast three separate spells, one per twitching finger.

>A drawer slides open, as a small pouch flies into your hand.

>Inside, the sand is transmuted into Bits.

“-You shall be provided a Bit-Allowance of twenty per day to satisfy whatever components and food you will require.”

>Sorcerer looks up from his new book.

>”And if I require more?”

>You toss the bag over your shoulder at him

“I will consider digging into my personal coffers should it be pertinent.”

>He hums his understanding.

>”I shall be content for the night.”

 

>He turns and leaves, headed downstairs, nose buried in his book.

>You sit at your desk, as the scroll rack slides open, the spinning pocket dimension releasing a series of scrolls.

>You had a lot of work to do if everything was to proceed according to plan.

>First of which, was finding the correct scrying spells.

>You pour over scroll after scroll, noticing Sorcerer occasionally returning and pulling out a book, or browsing your scroll rack.

>You almost want to back hand him for not being more careful, but you are not interested in undue conflict at this juncture.

>About an hour later, you ‘feel’ the door open to your tower.

>You hear some minor conversation down below, but ignore it.

>It is with some reluctance, you slowly look up into the face of a smiling Shermanator with a Taco wedged in his mouth.

>”Dish ish delushus.”

“Hello, Shermanator. What do you require?”

>He gulps down the last of his meal, before sitting atop one of your tomes.

>”So, I was wondering…”

”You’re sitting on a book worth more than your entire world.”

>”Seeing as we are stuck here until we fix this whole thing with the Elements and all…”

”Either of them.”

>”Why don’t we have a little friendship picnic?”

”Both of them combined, actually.”

>”C’Mon it would be a lot of fun. We could invite Twilight and her friends too! Relax and blow off steam!”

”Ten times over.”

>”I mean, we’ve been hopping from one world to the next pretty non-stop. Don’t we have any time to rest?”

“You are enjoying this, are you not?”

>”So, what do you say? Can we do it?”

“Will it get you off of my book?”

>”Yes.”

”I shall organize it post-haste.”

>Nerull you hated this man, especially when he cracked that smile.

 

>”Great. Told Sorc I could convince you.”

>Oh no, he was giving out nicknames now?

>You nod apathetically, and return to your reading.

”I shall have the Cakes prepare a few confections for the event.”

>He smiles down at you, and turns to leave.

>”Good man.”

>He pauses on the way out, however, and you inwardly groan.

>”By the way-“

>You glare up at him with the cold fury of a thousand dwarf stars.

>”I hope you don’t mind, your tower and all, but I told Sorc to make himself at home.”

>Remember, Anon:

>If you kill him, you have to expend the resources of returning him from the dead.

“Yes, that is perfectly acceptable. I trust your judgement.”

>Not in a million years, and even then, only if it was my idea first.

>You dismiss him with a hand wave, and with a huff, he heads back down stairs.

>Again, conversation picks up, but you are busy.

>Hours drag by, day turns to night, and the only activity in your tower is the constant study of yourself and Sorcerer.

>You are weary of everything he’s picking through.

>Most of your material was on the Arcane Sciences of magic, stuff his Warp Sorcery would laugh at.

>It wasn’t the most immediately rewarding, to say the least.

>Of course, bending time and space to your whim was hardly as taxing compaired to the alternatives.

>You liked to think that, no matter what he read, he would be incapable of mastering any Arcana.

>He was too stuck in his use of the Warp to fully understand the idea of Mana.

 

>And so the night dragged on.

>You requisitioned from your Diamond Dog contacts the necessary spell components.

>Assorted gems, some various herbs, and Manticore blood.

>It would take two days, at least, for your supplies to be gathered.

>That meant you had a day to your friends, and a day for the Picnic.

>With a sigh, you return to your reading.

>The impulse to sleep had faded long ago, long sense gone when your flesh and fat rotted away.

>You somewhat miss the peaceful embrace of rest, but with so many things to focus on, you welcomed the ability to remain awake for centuries at a time, something you had exploited so often.

>It was odd insanity had not claimed you, with how much you waited, motionless, and silent.

>It…

>It was the first true thing in your life and unlife, these ponies, and you certainly did not wish to squander that in a fit of madness.

>You dismiss the last few scrolls, conjuring to your desk some notes you had taken on the Alicorns of Equestria.

>And as you did, the sun began to rise.

>You cast a glance at the sun, and nod to yourself.

>A lot hinged upon today.

>You had gathered a whole half of the Elements needed, yet the last three to go for next was giving you pause.

>You could head for the one known as Tibbs.

>You could return and gain retribution upon Aether.

>Or, you could go after the one who was most elusive.

>But that was second place to ensuring your friends got in safe and sound.

>Because today, was the day that your six closest friends returned to Ponyville.

>And, apperantly, you needed to host a picnic.

>Could the day get any ‘better’?

 

>You close up a scroll as you hear thick ceramite boots clank against the hard stone of your tower.

>You do not look up, instead managing various tomes, books, and scrolls on your desk.

>The Giant of Steel does not seem impressed by your ignoring of him.

>He pointedly clears his throat, and continues to wait

>You pointedly ignore him, and continue to read.

>Finally, he’s had enough, and puts a rough hand on your book.

”I was in the middle of reading where your Ring Finger was.”

>”When were you planning on telling me the truth?”

>Not this shit again.

>You finally look up at him, resting your cheekbone on your left palm.

“What ‘Truth’ are you referring to now?”

>You can feel the laser beams shooting out of his eyes, as you lazily look back at him.

>”I’ve been scouring your library, read your entire scroll rack, and I’ve yet to find anything that tells me that any threat from this universe could harm mine.”

>You tilt your head.

”You are that blind to think-“

>He cuts you off.

>”No more games! Answer my questions, ‘Lich’.”

>How did people keep digging that name up?

>Should you just wear a sticker on your robe that said ‘Hello! I am a: Lich, unnatural Undead Mage of Immense power and evil!’

“I have been forth coming thusfar, I would advise you to reduce your volumn and shift your tone to a more agreeable-“

>”Agreeable?”

>You don’t get a chance to finish, a massive fist rocking into your chest.

>You flip out of your throne and slam into the stone floor.

>”Who said anything about being Agreeable? This is not a negotiation. This is not a contest of wills.”

>You are lifted off your back and held aloft, a sword held to your skull.

>”This is you, telling me, what your angle is.”

 

>You grip the ceremite vambrace.

“Release me, worm.”

>The grip tightens, and you feel a few vertebrae get crushed, cracking under the pressure.

>”Tell me, N-“

>He suddenly finds himself grasping air as you are wreathed in light, before vanishing.

>A few feet away, you appear in a ring of light, turning around and facing the Sorcerer.

”My angle? It’s simple, really. I need you. I need you to destroy Discord.”

>He points the bolter and fires, bolt shells slamming into a knee-jerk barrier you raise.

>You begin to rapidly call upon the mana of this world.

>Froggy Bottom Swamp comes to mind first.

>Then, your own tower.

>The farthest sea’s.

>You picture the distant mountain homes of the Dragons.

>With a surge of energy, you sling a helixing bolt of energy at your enemy.

>He raises a Kineshield and your attack splashes helplessly against it.

>In a flash, you both leap into motion.

>A doom blade leaps from your right hand as energy begins to form into a concussive spell.

>Doom Bolts soar through the air at you.

>You use the blast to knock them into the floor just as the Sorcerer grabs the doom blade with a warp-filled hand, slinging it back at you like a boomerang.

>You let the darkness melt over you, and the blade impacts harmlessly, melting away.

>The scourchmarks on the floor tell of the direction this fight is about to take.

>All pretense of physical fighting disappears as a battle of mages escalates.

>You begin leading him back, and up, the staircase, drawing him to the towers crown.

>You duel upon the stairs, quickly moving through the living quarters.

>Elemental attacks and advanced spells dance between the two of you.

 

>"I am not your tool!"

>Chains reach for you as you toss a gout of magma at him.

>With a quick blast of water, you cast a spell of elemental rust, corroding the chains before they touch you.

>He conjures up empyrean frost which turns the magma to stone instantly.

>You leap into the air, levitation taking hold as you hover above him, soaring above your tower.

>He watches for a moment, before with a stomp of his foot, a rune carves into the roof of your tower.

>With a whirl of blades, he rises upon a dias held aloft by warp energies.

>An aerial duel?

>This was going to get good.

>He readies his sword, prepared to meet you in a clash of mental and physical skill.

>With a slight air of bemusement, you call upon your element, your staff forming.

>You watch one another for a moment, in the dawning light.

>And with a flash, spells of magnitude that have never been seen on Equestria in eons are traded between to powerful entities.

 

>A burning wave of plasma springs from your palm, just as a barrage of Doom Bolts thick enough to fill a Canyon shriek towards you.

>Counter magic flows through your staff, and with a wave you create a reflective spell, sending the bolts flying away.

>The plasma impacts his open palm, a miniature and creative teleport spell sending it back at you through his sword.

>You dodge out of the way as black magic dances about you.

>There is a caw as a Griffon rises from the earth below, its atrophied flesh falling off.

>It rises on hobbled wings give it a disgusting and unnatural rise.

>A fusillade of ice forms around you, hundreds of spinning blades whirling.

>The Sorcerer readies his blade, and with a twitch of his foot, his disc slips aside just as the Griffon soars up from underneath.

>You release your icey daggers, seeking for your enemies neck.

>The Sorcerer raised his free hand, a concussive wave of wind slamming into the icicles as the Griffin swipes up at him.

>He expertly dodges, parries, and swipes.

>His sword slashes through the flesh and vertebrae before exploding out in a spray of gore.

>The body limply crashes into him, the decayed head spinning to the field around your tower.

>You soar aside as a constant barrage of pure warp energy lances out like a strobing laser.

>The mana begins to burn in your hands, as you call upon more and more.

>With a swipe of a claw, an axe of molten metal flares towards the Sorcerer.

>Coating his hand in warp energy, he catches it by the hilt, spinning in the air, before hurling it back.

>You are too close to evade, and feel the metal burn through your robes and your bones.

 

>The metal cools quickly over your bones, and begins to constrict them, cracking ribs and vertebrae.

>Your staff comes up, as you lash out at the Sorcerer.

>His sword blocks it, and with a quick flick, slashes towards you.

>A cloud of black smoke engulfs you as you slip into the Nether.

>You effectively teleport to the shadow of one of your towers spinnerettes, stepping from the shallow darkness.

>The Sorcerer spins as you unleash a barrage of thin pinpricks of violent energy.

>He leaps from his disk, strengthening his shield against your attack.

>You leap backwards as he slams into the tower, turning solid rock to dust from his impact.

>Mana flares along your hands, which are now engulfed in a similar green flame that is erupting from yoru rib cage and licking at your skull.

>Your eyes boast smoldering fires that leak a brackish smoke, more and more mana pouring into you as you call upon the laylines of distant worlds.

>The headless body of the griffon convulses at the base of your tower, before rising and taking wing once more.

>The Sorcerer charges you, sword in hand, and falls upon you.

>Your staff rises up to meet the blade, and they clash with a shower of sparks.

>You tilt your staff up and send your weapon slamming into your enemies helmeted head.

>You realize with some annoyance that it hardly even stuns the Astartes.

>He delivers a crushing punch to your chest, but you grab a hold of his arm.

>With a surge of supernatural strength, dark tendrils wrap around his wrist, and you toss him into the air.

>He flies up a few feet before the undead griffon lands upon his back and, headless as it may be, begins to tear into the vulnerable joins.

 

>And then, his sword began to glow.

>It was then that you noticed the change in the Sorcerers weapon.

>His blade had been supplemented, the pommel now a sweeping basket hilt.

>And the whole thing glowed.

>Your staff vibrates.

>The Elements themselves were clashing.

>Mana begins to build all around you, as you prepare your spells.

>You realize with some degree of shock, totally caught off guard, that mana comes to the command of the Sorcerer as well.

>Black whisps gather around his hand, and with a slick crack, he lands with the griffon below him.

>Rising, he flicks his wrist, his eyes focused on you.

>The body convulses, before beginning to rise.

>Unbeleivable.

>Unacceptable.

>How could he manage a reanimation spell with the Warp?

>How could his Element allow him to learn such a spell so quickly?

>This was an impossibility.

>Something that should not be happening.

>This did not factor into your already fragile plans for this fight.

>You had no time to prepare, and you met him on mostly equal terms.

>You let loose a barrage of black tendrils, which perforate the Griffon.

>The Sorcerer charges in, his sword slashing through the air.

>You leap to the side, levitating above the ground to move further with minimal effort.

>Your feet brush the ground as you unleash a staggering assault of prismatic energy.

>The magical bombardment stops as you feel the sword enter your chest.

>The Element of Severity, matched with the powerfield, slashes through your mana bonds, retarding you of your energy.

>You stagger back, your focus hazy.

>You desperately lash out, catching your aggressor with a screaming bolt of black and red lightning.

>He screams in pain as his memories are torn away with the psychic attack.

>You groggily try to regain control of your body, but it will not listen any more.

>Your mana ties cut with that abominable sword, you clutch at your flames which begin to spill out and drip.

 

>You fall to your knees, looking over at the panting Space Marine.

>With a howl from beyond the grave, you call out in the Black Tongue, desperate to get some measure of victory.

>Your arm falls off as you scramble desperately to refocus your mind and regain control over your body.

>You have already lost your grip, and it’s slipping too fast for you to recover.

>The Sorcerer slowly begins to rise, blood dripping from his helmet.

>Atleast you can take solice in that small victory.

>You scream out in indignation, flames erupting in a great wash, before your corpse falls to bits.

>Your skull rolls conveniently, lazily, under the waiting boot of the Astartes.

>With a crack, it is shattered.