"Elements of Disharmony part 10"
By Commander_Xillian (https://pastebin.com/u/Commander_Xillian)

URL: https://pastebin.com/uL2FEc5x
Created on: Monday 23rd of April 2012 02:18:14 PM CDT
Retrieved on: Friday 23 of October 2020 08:09:46 PM UTC


>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.