The Legacy of the Medici

[couchninja]

Legacy of the Medici
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Prologue, Eternity’s Deadline:
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First there was Atticus Maxwell, a man who lived during a time when the multiverse was reaching its conclusion, when time itself would run out. The gods had long since perished and magic had disappeared from the materium. The earth had rotten, the water had gone stale, the wind no longer blew and the fire had gone cold; a dark and dying period, slowly dissipating into entropy at the passage of each and every moment.
Atticus was a man of science and machines, a genius man at that, and his machines predicted that the final blow would soon land upon the worn out existence that he inhabited.
A terrifying thought, if living under these conditions was not already one, his mortality was facing its own demise, and there was little time to spare.
He started the development of a machine that would allow him to achieve the absurd. Scraping together as many forgotten lores and theories that he could possibly find, the plausibility of a journey through the strands time itself was a theoretical commodity. He desired to escape fate, to deny it the station that it has given to him. Decades he spent designing and building, his bones grew brittle, his hair white, and the lack of a tangible power source to find continually bashed upon the hopes of ever achieving his goal.
For as he gazed over what he had created, the only thing he felt, was the calm certainty that this world bore no more energy, no power to make it work. He truly lived in the age of despair. His thoughts began to questioning him about whether any of this will actually work, even if it has the power.
He sought for many methods and ways in the last few standing libraries of knowledge that still existed, most of the books were useless these days, and no mechanized information source was functional. He had almost given up on his search.
Until he found an old tome of vile arts, describing how the souls of mortal creatures could be used to generate energy, spells, rituals, chants and many more things.
Atticus was skeptical about the contents; the book contained a bunch of fairytales about demons and devils, and more nonsense about immortal beings.
However the longer he read it, the more interest it provoked. He read about certain designs and rituals that would, in theory, still work to this day.
So he made adjustments to his machine that would incorporate these ideas as he then set up a diabolical plan.
Atticus lived on the border of a big metropolis, which largely consisted of collapsed rubble. A small community of about 200 human survivors had established itself there, experiencing the daily hardships of this post apocalyptic scenario as they proceeded to live out their pointless lives.
Atticus’ obsession with his work had given him a few followers, and the other members of the community only knew him as a kind and gentle but rather obsessed man. Once his followers spread rumors that Atticus could get them out of this worn out situation, many took interest in his work. Upon the full completion of the Time Machine, Atticus told each to walk into the chamber in groups of 12, and it would take them to a more favorable time of choice.
The people, desperate for a better life, walked into the machine with few questions, and upon each 'sending' they were never seen again, in truth, they were becoming the fuel of this device, all of them. Even the small group of loyal followers had no idea of the fate that would befall them.


Upon the harvesting of the last few people left in the community, he felt no amorality, and in his mind sounded only a clever rationalisation of his crime, the fools were going to die out here anyway.
He then pressed the red button, and before him tore a hole into the withered barriers between dimensions. He gazed into this rift that he had created, it was held by the machine, and through it he saw a grand cosmic event, a beauty of the likes he had never seen, a true and undefinable spectacle of creation.
A tsunami of questions befell him while standing there, utterly fascinated by the anomaly. Had he, after so long a time, actually been successful?
Without hesitation, he stepped into his creation as he was ejected through the very continuum that held the concepts of existence together, in a single direction; he crossed the loop, the end behind, the dawn ahead as he hoped for salvation.
He arrived, imidiately exploring his new surroundings. A bubble that was floating in a void, odd energies flew all around, a magnificent display of the patterns of creation, the schematics and designs of the universe, truly a miracle to behold.
However, then he felt a sense of vertigo and displacement, as if a dreadful something was approaching him, a Human stood on the steps that no god had witnessed, the absurd beauty of the moment presented itself to him.
But it did not quell the feeling that something was out of place, not right.
He then spotted a crack in his bubble, it was hard to miss, as the newly created seams radiated white light, a sudden fright crept up in him as he had no idea whether he would be able to survive without it.
Then it struck him, the force that was breaking his bubble was the same force that was generating the vertigo. Atticus Maxwell had become a paradox, and history abhorred it. Even at the fundamental forge of creation, his presence was not tollerated.
The crack spread over the entire sphere, but it had shown no signs of dissolving or breaking, but then he suddenly noticed a similar crack on his hand, spreading as well, his fright now transformed into sheer terror.
The machinations of the multiverse began to tear him apart and he was forcefully 'integrated' into this new time, crushed, shattered by the tides of history for his transgression, it could not shuffle or bend itself around this monumental obstruction. Thus, the cause of the paradox was broken and its pieces taken away by the winds of the aeons, Atticus, would be destroyed.

However, at the dawn of creation, the multiverse is still in a state of infinite possibility, and Atticus’ arrival had left a mark that was already too great to simply fade. Out of his action, a doubt in the integrity of the time-space continuum physically manifested itself into an entity known as the Timestreamers.
And they observed not only Atticus, but aloso the fragments that were torn from him. These shards collected into masses, forming new individuals and birthing them onto the worlds as time resumed its regular pattern as a branching tree of possibilities and directions. The Timestreamers concluded that they were to examine what had transpired, to find the truth behind this anomaly. They started by recovering Atticus’ mind lest it be lost. They put him in a grand and everlasting fortress in the depths of time, the Citadel of Eternity. Here, in the Tomb of the Medici, Atticus Maxwell would spend aeon after aeon in slumber, gradually and on a subconcious level, he shared what he knew with the Streamers, and they shared what they knew, with him.
As for the fragments that became new individuals, well, each of them was assigned a Timestreamer who monitored them and their actions. Eeach uncountable alternative of Maxwell’s new life would now have its own streamer assigned to it. And thus, time began.

[couchninja]

The Epoch of Orion
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Chapter I, the Prophet:
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-7841 DR of the Torillian Elvish Calendar of Dale Reckoning.
Toril, southeast Faerun, Imaskari Empire, Raurin peninsula.
I am Orion of the Soulbane Dynasty, an arcane aristocracy that governs the cities around the Nemrut and Raurin provinces, and I do not hail from this world. Alphatia is the cradle where my life began, but it was a world decimated by war between the principalities of fire and air. So I followed many of my kin to another world known only to us as Mystara, and for two counts of a thousand years long we had peace, I watched these ages pass by up to the destruction of the Nucleus. The Nucleus of the Spheres of the Glantri, a topic of research to which I was assigned, it held the power of the Radiance itself, but it was corrupted by Entropy and other powers of the dark arts. The empress desired it would be destoyed, yet it would be so much more reasonable to obtain and study it. Pitty that it did not come to that, for after our victory against the Glantri and the destruction of the Nucleus, there was only betrayal. A pair of traitorous Immortals, Rad and Rafiel, sank our continent into the sea with a magnificent beam of light which hailed from the heavens as our our capital city was blown from the map in a single, awesome blast. It seemed that they did not belive the stockpile of their own artifacts was worth more then our undoing, and why destroy us after the conclusion of a centuries long war? Such a pathetic course of action.I wasn’t on the homeland when it all happened, yet I was versed well enough in the magics of time and space to understand what happened. My people sank into the Hollow Earth of Mystara and the continent would most likely be one of many floating plateaus within the belly of the world. I decided that nothing was left for me here, damned Immortals, they unite our kingdoms behind the empress, then they destroy our entire council of mages along with the empress, I have grown an insurmountable disdain for these beings.I have a feeling this had something to do with our project to travel back toAncient Blackmoor, regardless, I digress.
My Pale Skin has been standing out to these Humans for quite a while; still, they showered me with gifts and status. And for good reason; a quarter of Alphatia was composed of magisters, and Chronomancy was no rare art to preform. In my first encounter with the people of the Raurin, their gave me odd yet excited looks, they were inquisitive and intelligent, unlike the rest of the rather primitive Humans on this world. About five hundred year after the start of their civilization they already had immense amounts of magic lore, it was Humanity at its best, not even a single Elven life passes or we supercede their magical might. And time, we were appraoched by the Elder Fey of the Wild, gray emaciated figures that each seemed older than the Elven race as a whole, they extended a hand in the development of seven relics now known as the Imaskarcana, perhaps a recognition of our superiority in opposition to their descendants.
I shall proceed my studies here, there is much promise, and one day, I might challenge the Immortals.

-7796 DR of the Torillian Elvish Calendar of Dale Reckoning.
Toril, southeast Faerun, Imaskari Empire, Raurin peninsula.
The empire has made a breakthrough in its research of the Bronze Scrolls of the Crystal Deep; we now assume that the scrolls come from a frog-like race of highly intelligent Amphibians with Aberrant characteristics known as the Batrachi, one of the Mythic Creator Races.
The Humans of this world remind me of my homeland, thirsty for magic and highly talented for it as well, and no doubt the Transdimensional secrets of the Scrolls have something to do with their success.
Amazing relics, they had a complete magical theorem on Extradimensional Spaces and Portal Mechanics, moreso then anything I have encountered in the past. Studying them makes mastering magic quite easy, this world also has something known as the Weave, a specialized Arcane body or web that stretches over the planet, but does not encompass the power of the gods. I find this odd, at Alphatia we directly called upon the elements of creation and destruction, on Mystara I called upon the Radiance, which was the source of all power, mortal and immortal alike.
I believe it’s time to develop an Encylopedia of the various manifestations of magic.
-7612 DR of the Torillian Elven Calendar of Dale Reckoning.
Toril, southeast Faerun, Imaskari Empire, Raurin peninsula.
I met a man the other day, Nikodimus. He is the first Chronomancer I've seen on this world. However he doesn't seem quite Native nor Human, so I suspect his method of arrival here must be akin to my own.
He told me of this magnificent Orb he is looking for, the Temporis Orbus.
With it, unimaginable feats of Chronomancy would be open to us, I do not trust him though, he seemed to know me already, yet I could not predict our meeting beforehand.
I have also attained a tan, it is a rather interesting predicament considering this had not yet happen before. One would almost forget that I am of the Atlanti people.

-7521 DR of the Torillian Elvish Calendar of Dale Reckoning.
Toril, southeast Faerun, Imaskari Empire, Raurin peninsula.
It seems Nikodimus was not lying, we have the Orbus, and it is all that he promised it was to be.
Although, he has been acting quite strange, he seems to talk, no, ramble about a great deal of prophecies since we got the Orbus, and has been telling me that I am part of a grand plan, and that I would gain the wisdom and power of many times myself, it sounded rather preposterous. How could ‘he’ know what ‘I’ could not?
Regardless, he then told me ‘how’ to fullfill this prophecy with an astonishing acurracy. who is this man, and what does he know?
To become the prime mover of this myth, we are to fuse another timeline with our own, once we do this we open an alternative possiblity over my own. According to ‘Dimus this is the first step in order to become the Prophet of Infinity.
It sounds crazy even, but we have set up a ritual for tomorrow.
Let us observe how far this old man is willing to go with his stories, he hasn’t been wrong thus far.

-7420 DR of the Torillian Elvish Calendar of Dale Reckoning.
Toril, southeast Faerun, Imaskari Empire, Raurin peninsula.
It has taken many decades of study and experimentation, and some long years of travel along the various lands of Toril, but the Infinitum Theory is now complete.
We must converge all of possibility into a single point, in practice meaning that I am to take the power of all my alternative selves throughout the planes of possibility, then, I will reach a state of Infinity.
We've perfected the required magic, there is much to be done. Let us set in motion the machinations of fate, and fuse timelines once more. The Orbus will comply.

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Chapter II, The Awakening:
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-7410 DR of the Torillian Elvish Calendar of Dale Reckoning.
Toril, southeast Faerun, Dustwall Mountains.
Distressingly enough we have discovered that Imaskar is going to fall when a whole pantheon of deities that the Sigil has been blocking away from our slave populations is going to land in the heart of our Empire.
These slaves will not arrive for a few millenniums however, and a mysterious plague is going to wipe out a large part of our people prior to this, resulting in the aforementioned course of mass slavery.
I for one do not plan to be anywhere near the Empire during this time of turbulence, so we have set up a tower on the Dustwall Mountains, south of the Raurin.

-7400 DR of the Torillian Elvish Calendar of Dale Reckoning.
Toril, southeast Faerun, Dustwall Mountains.
We've successfully fused two timelines; Nikodimus said that today had the correct hour to do so. We have hidden in plain sight from my alternative self, as he seemed quite violent uppon arrival and we didn’t want him to belive I was some kind of doppleganger.
A strong swordsman, and perhaps bright as well, as he was swift, prepared, and stole our orb before making a leap to another timeline, Quite agitating and highly surprising.
First the man started talking to himself with various echoing voices, apparently he was accompanied by many others, or he was suffering from some type of magical schizophrenia. Then he snatched the Orbus from my desk and knew exactly what to do. ‘Dimus suspected that my alternative, Marduke Sigmundus, was being guided by another player of the Prophecy that had waited fo us to make the first move, but I digress.
We have him within our scrying fields, we will track his motion, I wonder what he is up to.

??? Time, Location ???.
It’s been a while since I last opened this journal. We have tracked Marduke all over the planes of time and possibility, with many jumps through past, future and possibility. As of now we have no idea where or when we are.
Regardless, Marduke has spent many years with the slaying of his alternative selves, this is peculiar, he is setting my plan in motion.
Nikodimus has also revealed to me that he himself is a Timestreamer, and that Marduke is accompanied by one as well, possibly in his head. Although he is different from the other Streamers, and not in a favorable manner. Nikodimus was to guide me to become the Prophet, as most of my alternatives are simply being observed by them, I wonder what all of this means, or what he desires of me.
We will carefully plan this out, so we may take the power that Marduke has accumulated once the time is right, that much is obvious.

-4370 DR of the Torillian Elvish Calendar of Dale Reckoning.
Toril, southeast Faerun, Dustwall Mountains.
Marduke has eluded us by entering a gateway to the beyond, I suspect he was aware of our pursuit.
Much time has passed in Imaskar. The plague has hit, as predicted. Now the Raurin people claim their gods have abandoned them, and the general consensus of the empire was to turn their backs to the faith. And so it was done, from this day onward priests would be executed and churches would be burned, and all faithful to the despoilers of man shall be punished accordingly, yet, the blow has already been dealt and a solution to their now scarce people had to be found.
They erected vast portal systems, black circles of large towering obelisks designed to carry men betwixt worlds, entire city populations could be transported at once. And they did, from another world the people of Raurin enslaved two empires to fill their own, I could use a slave or two, this tower needs cleaning.

-4360 DR of the Torillian Elvish Calendar of Dale Reckoning.
Toril, southeast Faerun, Dustwall Mountains.
A decade has passed, all the cheap slave labour has led to a golden age of prosperity, I wonder how far we stand from the inevitable rebellion however.
I have little time to meddle with these politics, Marduke's journey is boundless and continious and the madman has involved himself with forces beyond the spectrum of our Multiverse, or even our sanity. We will have to invest our full time into this project, for we are not sure whether his sudden evolution still applies to the rules of this cosmic chess game, M'eh.
Aeons of Magical study I had to attain to reach this point, and then he disappears into a gateway that takes him beyond the very edges of time itself, and a decade later he comes back as some alien god, how ridiculous.

-3333 DR of the Torillian Elvish Calendar of Dale Reckoning.
Toril, southeast Faerun, Dustwall Mountains.
In my search to counter Marduke's expanding power I took an observation closer to home, a growing group of individuals within the Empire, the Ur-Priests. After the plague decimated the empire, a scripture was written that contained methods to steal the power of the gods and heavens and take it for oneself, so that humanity may transcend the gods, and those that are the immortals.
This is just what I needed, I have already spent a great deal of meditating on these teachings, and they will prove highly effective, should I ever come face to face with Marduke, or an Immortal.

-3012 DR of the Torillian Elvish Calendar of Dale Reckoning.
Toril, southeast Faerun, Dustwall Mountains.
I have peered back into the history of this world, although I am aware certain powers keep the timeline under a careful watch, it is nothing nearly as organized as the Immortals of Mystara, excellent.
The history of Toril is immensely long, and at the beginning there were four races that created a complete magic theorem, superceding this ‘weave’ and taking the power that is. We already have the Batrachian set of scrolls, the other sets can be found in Mazticia and West Faerun where the Netherese Empire will uncover them. I think it’s time to move into that direction.

-2488 DR of the Torillian Elvish Calendar of Dale Reckoning.
Toril, northwest Faerun, Netherese Empire, Scimitar Spire Mountains.
This will be my last entry in this journal, our predictions on the Empire have come to pass. Over the centuries these green lands have become arid deserts, the slaves brought their gods to our lands, for a long time we've had a great magical sigil of our strongest and most terrifying magic to keep the slaves from communicating with the deities. Still, something eventually bypassed the barrier rather unexpectedly, as our predictions assumed. The Purple Emperor himself fell before the avatar of Horus-Re, and in the aftermath the power unleashed was enough to destroy the entire capital city of Inupras.
Even the palace itself was gone after I arrived there, which was odd, because the many underground labyrinths disappeared along with it, perhaps it escaped instead, ah, time will tell.
The Imaskari have been undone by the gods, just like the Mystaran Alphatians by the Immortals. I felt sympathy when I saw them scatter on different roads after their defeat.
And I can't wait to finally get my hands on a deity or Immortal, so I may suck it dry of power.
We have moved our tower to Netheril’s Scimitar Spire mountains, the people here are pompous elitist idiots that fancy themselves the greatest mages of all time, pathetic, taken in consideration their achievements thus far. But, they show promise, they have sent their greatest cities into the skies, and will surely surprise me later on, I will work on getting entry to the Nether Scrolls of the Sarrukh race.
But first things first. The 13th hour is nearing.

[couchninja]

The Defiance of Marduke
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Chapter III, The Decider:
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Years, Aeons, Months, Millennia, Centuries, Days, Hours, Minutes, Seconds...Tick tick tick tick, no tocks, only ticks. . .By Magnus, where did it go so wrong?
The moment upon which that Dragon would be beheaded. . .The moment where all of its treasure would gleam at me and scream; "Take us with you, Marduke! We give ourselves to you!" I disappeared.
Crazy, maddening, illogical, senseless, pointless, wrong, wrong, wrong. ITS RED BY INNOCH, ITS RED.
I used to be a friendly man, or a blind man, perhaps they go hand in hand, but not foot in foot, that wouldn't work at all.
I had a sword, and a job, but the sword stayed with me longer, longer than my employers as well, I wish I could clearly remember that life. When I was still alive, or am I not dead? I am clearly not breathing, this much is certain.
The mages have lost my track and Krull should be nearby, wait. . .Who are ‘you’?
A. . .’reader’? How annoying, you’re not going to leave, are you? Well, fine then.
When I was alive I lived in a realm named Mithar, it was a world full of normal. . . Colours, not the things I've been seeing lately, I don't even know what kind of colours those are supposed to be. I was a swordsman, and later a binder of souls. I call forth powerfull forgotten entities to make deals with them, attatching them to my soul for predetemined amounts of time so that I may call uppon the powers of magic, as magic is quite scarse, and traditionally only granted by the gods.
One day I bound a vestige to me that was somewhat different from the traditional, very different. It spoke to me with many promises, did not quite grant me magic however he did show me how to gain so much more power by looking for a certain something.
This was Krull, and he showed me the way to conquer myself, and with that liberation will come power beyond my imagination. And he told me to wait when the time is Right.
Mithar had four gods of whom two where prone to conquer ‘it’, I'd tell you all the details but I doubt anyone would care, all you need to know is that these gods were once mortal, and they assumed the powers of the Disk long ago.
The Disk is. . . A thing in the sky, some kind of circular celestial object that dots the night sky, as if a belt to the world, within it orbits the sun and moons. And as the sun’s fire was brought down uppon our world by Innoch, he forged the progress of civilization.
What utter rubish, fire burns and destroys whatever it touches. Damnable priests never made any sense. Innoch has a brother called Magnus, he’s an imperial bastard that has been using fire for what it was made to do, and with it he contests with Innoch as their chosen people’s are at constant war.
War. . .Ehehehe, Glorious! Magnificent! Blood! BLOOD, BLOOOOOOOOOOD!
Then there was Mortanius, the god that watched, he prospered in the death and destruction of the ongoing war, yet his worship was openly phorbided by the ruling civilizations, yet this mattered little, for each dead mortal would add to the power of Mortanius, he sought for ways to topple the immortal servants of the other gods, the transcended humans, the angels and champions, and thus the struggle took a new dimension.
Then there was Adanos, the father of the earth itself, the only god of the four that sought to disconnect the Disk from the world, and liberate us from their clutches, most wise men and philosophers followed his teachings, yet in the civilization of Innoch they were considered heretical.
Regardless, I was in the war, commanding a mercenary group of Gyphon Riding Dragon Slayers. We were in the employ of Magnus’ Kingdom in order to slay one of the Indoctrinator Dragons of Innoch.
All went according to plan, we trapped it, we engaged and I was about to deliver the decisive blow that would end it’s life.
But then I was gone, vanished, torn from my place in the order of things into some mage’s study. Confused, suprised yet ready to kill. Krull then spoke to me on what action to undertake. I had to steal some orb and use it, I am quite skilled at using the items of mages, so in only a minute of time we were somewhere else again, right in front of somone who looked exactly like me, I was in a different time, in this time I was a merchant, and in this time, I would ‘DIE’ by my own hand. And as such began my march for power, across the threads of life, I severed the destinies of others to bolster my own.
Yet the mage whom owned the orb was watching, and he would most likely try to kill me if I showed a moment of weakness. No, no, no, no. I won’t give him that oppertunity, but, I don’t even know who he is. Wait, he could be anyone! I can trust nothing and no one!
. . .It isn’t ‘YOU’ is it?
Anyways, Krull called me to the. . .Other side, of space and time, a border to that which we can comprehend, and he asked me: how far can humans truly comprehend their environment?
Well, that was given a definite answer, on the other side.
As I arrived I saw before me giant, bloated masses of writhing appendages playing cards with itself on one side whilst eating smaller ‘things’ with its other half, oozes dripped from the very crevices of our surroundings, the air thick as liquid. It was truely horrific.
There I met Krull face to face, a swarm of the most vicious looking insects I had ever envisioned, they revolved around a strange metal object with two slots on top of it, a ‘toaster’ as I was told. Even to this day I do not know what its function is supposed to be.
Also, I imagined he would be taller. This world. . .So bizare.
Then came the nightmares, I do not know if time had passed at all, but for a long time I lost all grip on what was real and what was not. You ‘are’ real, aren’t you?
The very creatures I communed with already spoke in manners I thought impossible, and their shapes left little to understand.
A progressive change happened within myself, I do not know exactly what it was, perhaps Krull does, but over time I was able to function within this realm, I was learning how the unlogic of it functioned, with this new understanding came the truth, the revelation of the multiverse and the prophecy, for I was the Decider, and with this power I would finish this.
I would ‘break’ the chains of destiny.
Ahahahah! AHAHAhahahaHAHAHA! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

(The text seems to transform into a mass of insane scribbles of languages that contain no coherence or structure, in the corner of you find a small, rather hilarious stick figure gushing out the entrails of another stick figure.)

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Chapter IV, Nihilism:
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Krull introduced me to these things that I cannot describe or that cannot be described at all. I was not prepared for this. And my mind opened to so many things I might've never wanted to know, but with these truths, with these undeniable facts, I have found solace, and pleasure. . .
It was a single stroke, Krull spoke of the prophecies that we were forced into, and with a single, ingenious move, ripped out of again.
By leaving time, history lost us, we would be free from the grip of destiny and fate, and together we would continue my hunt.
There was still more power to harvest from those pathetic, deluded and distracted selves of mine.
After my forced. . .Evolution, or adaption, into this new reality, we headed back to finish this.

Outside of time there was very little option in keeping anything stable, but back here, the clockworks tick and tock, except for us, we do not tick, only tock.
I am what they would consider Vile, Mad, Infected, Evil and Dangerous, lies and slander!
The truth is mine to know, how time, how this clockwork universe, is but a pathetic system to defend, no, to keep the reality from reaching the mortals of many worlds, a divine joke that has enslaved all of life!
Their pathetic illusionary order of things will collapse upon itself in due time.
We killed many, even more so than before, all seemed like insignificant pieces of a large puzzle, each added like a cog to the grand machine that was in the making, but then we met 'him'.
Krull knew him, Balthazar the Messiah, the pathetic salvation of a Legacy that we invalidated, his station was no longer relevant, and we would consume him.

The Messiah or the Prophet would outlast all others in the final confrontation, but my defiance of the Legacy, my departure of time had led to an unexpected and undefined road, the end was uncertain now, but I knew I would be the one to consume them one by one, for I was no longer subject to the perversions of life and death.
The Messiah has prepared well, but I shall give him a good surprise, oh yes, I will.
And I did.
He lived in a world made entirely out of buildings, I had never seen anything like it, it was impressive and massive, however filled with deceit and oppression by the one’s sitting in the highest towers. It was hard to find honest people here, so I just killed everyone I met.
We had disguised our shapes, and then, we infiltrated Balthazar’s own company.

As we worked our way through the ranks as aspiring commanders I was reminded of the wars of Mithar. Perhaps I should pay a visit home once we’ve finished business with the Messiah, see if we can replace those poser deities, and take the Disk for ourselves.
Yessssss. We shall rip them open, cut their influence, become the true gods of Mithar, rain their divine blood down upon the plains, the mountains, the seas and sands! Their entrails smeared over the world, a carnival of their slaughter as the world will plunge into despair, anguish and pointless absolution! Ahaha! AHAHAHAHA!!!
Mithar will fall! But first, we will bring Polaticus to its knees!

(The rest of the text seems to be filled with crummy drawings in which a stickman is making a bloody massarce of many other stickmen, suprisingly within the symbolic slaughter there is a very well drawn tree with an eye uppon it’s trunk, and a variety of stickmen hanging impaled on its branches.)

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Appendix I – Of Nihilism, Horrors and Mutiny:
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Fear. The world around me reeks of it. Its thick stench pours out of these minds all around me, like a sickening mist of bile and vomit. It envelopes my consciousness, agitating it, assaulting it, insulting me. It reminds me that the same foul odor pours from myself.
I am it, but my name is Krull. 'Now' is a lie I despise, but in the fragile binding timeframe of this reality I am 'now' creeping my way silently along the narrow steel corridors of Polaticus' immense industrial landscape. Not far behind me is an elite guerrilla unit of Marduke's fanatic M.E.D.I.C-corrupted cultists. These men follow me with dread and tremor, but they follow none the less in their insatiable zeal towards Marduke. Short months it has been since our arrival, but already Marduke has risen to the superior ranks of the world-encompassing corporation, swaying loyalties and inspiring terrible awe with his mere presence.
Ah- Marduke. My champion, my decider. He is the fracture of Maxwell's ancestral paradox- the fracture that led to my very existence, the sentience whose refusal to accept time's binding gave life to the doubt which is I. And as he came into being so was I, and I have prophesized the grand path that lay before him. A grand path that would come to a violent ending only to be swallowed by one of my counterparts and his unworthy champion. To be absorbed into the infinity of another, to lose my identity into the timestreamer entity once more- was the single outcome each prophecy I made bore for me, and a parallel fate for Marduke. Have I forsaken him by fleeing the grasp of time and fate into the far realms? Have I left him without guidance, outnumbered and outmatched against the ploys and manipulations of my counterparts and their champions? Is his fractured mind and tormented sanity a product of my cowardice? Have I corrupted the grand plan that was carried on for eons from within?
I enter the facility with my companions close behind. We rush inside, and I locate my target, allowing the others to perform their task. My humanoid appearance and M.E.D.I.C uniform conceal my nature from the residents of Polaticus, but as the loyalist M.E.D.I.C force commander meets my gaze I easily force my true being upon his inferior consciousness: his fear, Incarnate. His mouth remains gaped in terror as I enforce my will into physical telekinesis, pinning him to the wall. Terror is his last expression, as my axe swiftly severs his head. Behind me, the zealots massacre soldiers and scientists alike as they fervently utter praises to Marduke. Another high-ranked officer loyal to Balthazar eliminated, releasing yet another portion of Balthazar's loyal M.E.D.I.C into Marduke's darkly charismatic influence. All according to Marduke's plan, of course. Another decapitated leader left to inspire awe and terror in Balthazar's rank according to my own plan, of course. This course of action is nearly complete. In mere days or weeks our trap will be closed upon Balthazar, the most cunning and dangerous of our opponents so far.
Perhaps the answer to my previous questions is a definitive yes. Perhaps, but the layers of the far realm are as far as one could get from the shackles of fate. In the far realm, I have come to witness the manifestation of the perpetually insane genius of my champion. Unpredictable and superior. He is the core of my entirely new prophecy. A better prophecy. A prophecy that will leave the two of –us- victorious, and the collective dead.
I nearly forgot. I use my psych to gouge out the commander's eyeballs and place them in my pouch with practiced ease. We leave the area. With my trophy secured, I just know this'll be a wonderful day.

[couchninja]

The Epiphany of Balthazar
-----------------------
Chapter V, The Messiah:
-----------------------
Helios Online, good day, Sir.

ArcaNet connection established
Username: Blathazar De’Vijune
Password: *************
Project Number: 13oC
Codename: DECIDER
Origins: Off-world, perhaps off-realm.
Known Identities:
- Victor Gaulite, M.E.D.I.C. Force Commander of the Black Ops.
- Marduke Sigmundus, Alien Shapeshifter.
Primary Associates:
- Krull, origins unknown.
- Dias Nichole, former M.E.D.I.C. Admiral of the Sky Fleet.
- Navkire Erik, former M.E.D.I.C. Secretary of Investment & Funding.
- JIN, former M.E.D.I.C. machine sentience of Military Coordination.
- Dr. Adam Locke, M.E.D.I.C. Doctor of Psionic Research, deceased.

Struck like a storm, the tides of planned mutiny came to my attention. I am in distress, completely caught off guard as the most trusted unit of my operatives blow up a building where we planned a staff meeting I was late to attend. Half of my top commanders, dead! And not to mention a few traitors among them as well.
Perhaps I could bring them back with that vampiric injection I’ve been testing, or recover their minds through their ArcaNet implants.
Yes, that should work, perhaps the situation wouldn’t be that desperate if I did.
But who am I kidding, even with staff, I don’t have enough men left to assign them to. A great part of the organisation decided to follow the ‘new regime’ instead.
The regime of Victor, or better said, Marduke.
Expertly worked out, I must say. How in the name of the Spire did they ever manage to trigger almost one third of my men to start a corporate war? In the heart of M.E.D.I.C. territory even!
Maybe their first followers was in fact my security staff, or they hardwired JIN to confuse us whilst they struck, GAH, I should’ve ditched that outdated piece of junk when I developed Helios, he could’ve coordinated the countermeasures against these stupid rebels days before the first signs of uprising.

Nevertheless, we must find a way to crush this rebellion. With half of the Sky Fleet and its best commander missing we’re better off utilizing our ground defences, JIN is already disconnected from our corporate ArcaNet and Dr.Locke is dead.
Meaning we don’t have to worry for any psionic link between the forces mounted against us.
We must head for the Vault and activate the War Golems, it’s our best chance against the Fleet.
Hrm, why, of course! If we could infiltrate the ships and connect them to the M.E.D.I.C. ArcaNet again, we could make them drop like flies, that is, once I developed the correct mechanism for that.

Gah! Hopeless!
For all who find this document, let my words be known, for I fear for the world would this violent and crazed occult come to power.

Magic used to be hard to find, even longer ago we used to channel it like it was no big deal, it was as common as breathing, we called it the Inner Sun that was present in all humans. Our motions and voices, by nature, would draw the magic from within our souls.
The world flourished, cities rose to prominence, everything was in total abundance.
Then, without a warning, two hundred and sixty-one years ago, the ability to drain another person of their Inner Sun and thus expanding your own was discovered.
What a cruel joke. It only took four years for a bunch of lunatics to form a religious Order, worshiping some ancient Legend about a Crystal Comet, another successive ten years resulted in their order holding a grip over a large portion of the civilized world. A year later their self-proclaimed “Emperor” gathered enough magic and called down the comet, which then smashed into the planet by accident, incompetence everywhere. GAH!
All magic gone in a single blow, everyone’s inner sun ripped from their beings as the destroyed of the comet remains become completely useless, still it was quite suprising that there actually was a truth to that myth, although perhaps the object itself was naturally destructive or absorbant to magic, rather then the source of it. Regardless, so much good has come of it! Our technology entered a golden age of development, two generations of the most industrial people led to great revolutions in our way of life, and to top it off, four great men developed the ArcaNet, a refound connection to our lost magics as we discovered that it formed a field around our planet, we had magic at our disposal once more! It was quite the discovery, for it appeared that our magic was in fact ‘moved’ from ourselves to our surroundings.
And although the ArcaNet is not as practical, it’s so much more versatiable. Myself and my good friend Moebius are proud to have been part of its development.
We created the future for our peoples, and became the saints that would forever be remembered, the pioneers that withheld total civil collapse and made way for global revolution.
We developed machines capable of reaching the Arcane back to us. We might've lost the ability, but that doesn't mean we can't take it back. Yes, machines would become the future, we designed so much and built even more, the saviours of civilization they called us, a heavy industrialisation of our world took place, every spec of nature was in one way or another replaced by a machine.
Glorious, is it not? To have superceded our environment far enough to change it so that it would once again supercede us instead.
It drove us to improve ourselves even further, to graft machines into our bodies and achieve immortality, but that wasn't wholeheartedly accepted, to be honest, neither was the destruction of nature. Man, did we fight some world wars over that, many people died over those pointless disputes, but it matters not, as we won.

Oh right, Marduke.
Log out.

---------------------------
Chapter VI, The Ultimatum:
---------------------------
Helios Online, good day, Sir.

ArcaNet connection established
Username: Gothori
Password: 010010011 Syntax Error
Project Number: -
Codename: FATHER

Shortly after the rebellion began, the Streamer Moebius brought the Messiah to the Ageless halls of the Citadel of Eternity, traversing the ageless, undisputed halls through which all time flows forever, the edifice from which the Origoth had spawn, they had reached the chamber that had lain dormant for so long.
The Tomb of the Medici, The Messiah was doubtfi;; about his whereabouts and the hidden motives of his old companion.
Central to the room stood a crystal obelisk, frozen in time as one could say.
They approached, and the streamer spoke.

Moebius: “Go on, touch it.”

Balthazar: “I don’t know, it looks kind of Phallic.”

But doubt and hesitation was soon overwon, and he placed his hand on the Obelisk. Runes of all shapes and sizes, in the form of texts or drawings danced around the room, its walls lit with ancient records long forgotten.
The staff within the Obelisk was released, the pillar fragmenting in countless particles as they shaped a spiralling vortex that rested atop the staff itself.

Maxwell: “Greetings, Balthazar, Messiah of Infinitum, and welcome, to your destiny.”

Dumbfounded, the Messiah stood there with the item in hand for a full minute before responding.

Balthazar: “Hello, who might I have the pleasure of meeting on this fine, ageless day, a weapon of immense might? An ancient magus ready to show me great forgotten magics so I may defeat Marduke?”

Maxwell: “I am you, you are me, the streamers call me Maxwell, and you are the Messiah. From the dawn of time I emerged, and from there I was broken. Pieces of me scattered throughout the planes of possibility to form a new individual, the Medicus, if one considered the prospect of its individual nature, but together, in each alternative possible outcome, they were the Medici, they were me.”

Moebius: “And the collective gave each a Streamer, and each Streamer made a prophecy for their respective Medicus.”

Balthazar: “. . .”

Maxwell: “And so it is, Messiah, that your destiny is to triumph over all others, including the Decider that now plagues you.”

Balthazar: “And you, my supposed progenitor, appear before me alone? What of my infinite cousins?”

Moebius: “After much time had passed, we time streamers divided into two political groups, I am the head of the Messianic Theory that you will, one day, join all Medici together into Medicus Infinitum.”

Balthazar: “But why me? And what is the other group?”

Moebius: “Because it is written so, Balthazar, as Maxwell you too are a man of Machines, your string is most of what we believe to be the original self of Maxwell. As such, you are most suitable to reunite the Medicus, the other group are the Disciples of the Infinitum Prophet, the Medicus Orion was the first to discover the power of Chronomancy, and the Legacy of Maxwell, it is he whom they follow.”

Balthazar: “But I no longer wield the Inner Sun, it has been gone for two centuries.”

Maxwell: “Moebius has been developing a method to return it to you, and if the staff that is my body is fuelled by your magic, you will be able to use the Chronomancy ingrained in my very existance. So you may find a way to defeat the Decider.”

They went back to Polaticus, Balthazar’s implants were uploaded with Moebius’ new schematic as the power of the Inner Sun became acessible to him, fueling his body with as much of the lost magic as possible.
The war resumed. War machines equipped with cannons and grappling arms would tear or shoot down the massive Sky Fleet, which in turn bombarded all M.E.D.I.C. settlements. All over Polaticus the corporate war was felt. It revealed the most apocalyptic scenario that the planet could’ve had. After centuries of development, governments were cast aside and would only leave behind brutal law enforcements, but the companies that held the resources, the currency, the technology, they had dominated the lands. Humans were worth little more than a labour force, a force that was almost entirely replaced by machines.
The humanity left on Polaticus either lived in high luxurious towers, leading distracted and blunted lives as their decadence grew each successive generation, spoiled and given what they wanted by the true masters of this planet.
Or those less fortunate lived in overpopulated slums, given little if nothing, many walked the shadows, hijacking corporate ArcaNets to retrieve sensitive information to sell to another company. It was a brutal society and only the cunning survived.
The M.E.D.I.C. was no different, in fact, it capitalized on every side of this absurd civilization.
But that all changed when the war became full scale, even the elite of the world lived in fear of destruction as more corporations mingled into this debacle, the property that they had accumulated over the years was a battleground between the two fronts of the largest army it has seen since the establishment of global government.
The Messiah, however endowed, would not stand a chance.

And then, the two of them met, face to face. . .

----------------------------
Chapter VII, Project Origin:
----------------------------
Helios Online, good day, Sir.

ArcaNet connection established
Username: Balthazar De’Vijune
Password: *************
Project Number: 00pZ
Codename: ORIGIN

The War has been lost, or I’m not really certain, the recent developments still puzzle me, but I shall try to describe my calculations.
After I was able to channel magic once more, and now with the power to manipulate time, I stood face to face with Marduke Sigmundus, the Decider, supported by the “Third” streamer group.
I discovered that his Streamer, Krull, had removed himself and his Medicus from time itself, into Aberrant, Alien realms that supercede our reasoning. Those that follow Krull within the streamer collective believe the “Decider” will triumph over the Messiah and the Prophet due to being severed from fate, a frightening thought.
But those powers too, have weaknesses.
But enough of that, for something monumental happened at the end of the rebellion.
The M.E.D.I.C. had been systematically destroying itself, both sides taking losses that I could not recoup or influence, until the very moment I stood against Marduke within my own office. The might of my magic blasted his form to all sides of the chamber, but he seemed to recover much too quickly from this. His powers were grotesque and effective, even if somewhat unstable, but when I applied my powers of Chronomancy, with Maxwell the staff, he brought out this Orb that apparently nulled out my surprise trump, as if he was prepared for me at every turn, the bastard. However the Orb did more than that.
The earth began to shake as my enemy charged in on my confused self.
I should’ve just attacked, what was I thinking? I had so many weapons with me too! It was as if I was nailed to the floor as despair overcame me against this impossible enemy.
But regardless, The Orb Marduke held suddenly began to radiate a white blinding light, and when my vision returned I found myself in a green grassland, obviously no longer on Polat.
Moebius was with me, and we had no clue as to what happened.
Did Marduke do this? Wasn’t he trying to kill me? What was this white light?
Many questions without answers.

But, this miraculous escape gave us so much opportunity!
It was time to find the solution to the problem that the Decider posed, and find it we did, as if guided by fate, we found a symbol, a tablet, a power ancient and forgotten, the Cerulean Sign.
We discovered it underneath the lands that we had been transported to. Perhaps this Messianic Prophecy about my destiny is true after all, for this all seemed too convenient.
But regardless, we have the Sign.
The particular effect of the symbol generates some kind of energy that is destructive to everything that we can perceive as aberrant.
Every Alien hellspawn monstrosity, every grotesque glob of tits and tentacles, the nightmares of man made reality, all of these pseudonatural horrors would burn before the pure power of this sign!
It would become the key to defeating the Decider, as we forged our own champion from the Sign itself, nicknamed project ORIGIN.
My greatest creation, the bending and twisting of true powers, his glorious and purity of form and mind!
He would defeat Marduke so that I may complete the prophecies.
What a Magnificent day this turned out to be.

The world we found ourselves on did not have any kind of ArcaNet, it had something known as the Weave. It wasn’t perfect, but the power it has can be multiplied with my machines, we will need this weave to forge ORIGIN.

As for “The Prophet”.

Moebius and I have been developing a weapon, a sword, perhaps a work even greater than project ORIGIN.
From the Staff that is Maxwell, and the Sands of Khronus, which are in the possession of Moebius, we shall forge a weapon to end this Legacy.
The Khronus Dominatus, a sword that will be able to seal a Medicus within it, and a critical component to accelerate the affairs ahead.
Once the Decider is defeated we will bring the sword along with his orb, which we indentify as something called the Temporis Orbus, to the Tomb of the Medici. Then, in a ritual of Chronomancy larger then of which the likes have ever been held shall commence, we shall draw all remaining Medici from the strands of possibly into the blade.
And the The Prophet, too, shall not survive.
The 13th hour is neigh, let us prepare for things to come.

------------------------------------------------
Appendix II – Strings of the Ultimatum:
------------------------------------------------
I am in no hurry, for time is an infinite resource. But I am, because although it is infinite- it is the only resource we can never have enough of. Because of my haste, I find it hard to weave the magical patterns and manipulate the mighty currents of time and fate patiently. But caution and patience are my expertise. I have brought us to this pinnacle of our achievements by millenniums of patient weaving, gently directing the course of history by pulling the strings of a thousand puppets. At times I wonder what it is like for the puppets, oblivious to strings they cannot see and feeling not the tug of the puppeteer that guides them- myself, Moebius the Timestreamer.

I scribe the runic patterns in raw magic, giving it shape and meaning with the insignias I draw into the air before me. The incantations I utter are a powerful blend of ancient arcane lore and the product of recent research. Their rising chant grants meaning and strength to the complex runic formations I draw before me. The noticeable power echoes and multiplies in the series of geometrical sequences that were aligned in advance with perfect precision all across the room. The machines around me seem to hum with energy, manifesting and converting it. Rays of raw magic and beams of pure energy cross the room from one complex machine to another, amplified and shattered by lenses and ingeniously designed capacitors.
The magical surges should have been enough to tear apart less experienced spellcasters, but as a Demilich I am somewhat impervious to such erosion. Across the room, tuning and issuing constant modifications to the machinery, Balthazar is shielded as well by his sophisticated suit and mechanized barriers.

Balthazar, my messiah. From the very beginning I have anticipated his arrival. I guided the events in favor of his birth and ascension to power, for he was the core of my prophecy, destined to surpass his rivals and my counterparts- destined to become infinite and unite the Medici under himself, destined to unite the Timestreamers under me and release us from this bitter lie of time and fate. Not that he needed my aid on that matter. Balthazar seemed to be brilliant from the start, his mind soaring through higher understandings of magic and machine alike. Standing at the top of a corporate empire, I thought us ready to face the inevitable confrontation with our rival- the false prophet. Little did I know that my prophecies were about to take a dark twist, with the appearance of the wandering Decider and our defeat by his hand. By some odd occurrence we found ourselves at Midfeld, forced into a timeline and a world alien to us.

I can see the vague form of the body, outlined with a searing sky-blue light. I can see the magic manifesting into flesh within, and the cerulean rune burning bright as its heart. The tension of paradox in the room threatens to tear it apart, reality recoiling from and resisting the impossibility we are forcing upon it. This is Balthazar's most ingenious, ambitious and most dangerous creation so far.


It took us months of delicate work to get to this point: To obtain all these components, to acquire the required knowledge of the cerulean sign and to direct the conflict and souls of the deceased into this weapon's essence. Slowly Balthazar and myself gained influence with the locals and the local authorities, gaining the trust of the mighty vampire lieges of the land and the grandly epic warriors that resided there. Slowly I became second only to Lord Logan Grey, and Balthazar the trusted advisor of his nemesis- Arcadius De'Morte. Easily we pulled the strings, setting the arch-enemies on a full scale civil war, the vast numbers of their supporters rallying behind their flags. The conflict of that grand war fuels our creation, this unique place of its birth conquered in battle and the forgotten knowledge it requires taken from under the noses of its vampiric possessors.

It is complete. The weapon opens its eyes, and what I see in them troubles me. That uncompromising gaze, that unyielding relentless gaze of uttermost focus reminds me of an all-too-similar pair of eyes. The eyes of the decider. I look to Balthazar, but he does not look back. He is easily distracted by the magnificence of his design. I know, I foresee, that there is but one relic-blade standing between us and becoming the next target of this terrible weapon.

At times I wonder. At times I seem to imagine a gentle pull, a diminutive tug. Just a delusion of my imagination. But is it possible, that even I have strings attached? Is it possible the puppeteer is but another puppet, its directions of the puppets under it but an illusion of free will bestowed by the practiced hand that moves it with ease?
Perhaps after today’s exhausting work myself and Balthazar can find the time to play a relaxing game of badger chess.
No strings attached.

[couchninja]

The Alexandrium
----------------------------------------
Chapter VIII: The Endgame:
----------------------------------------

They equiped me with weapons imbued with the same power from which I was made, and sent me to the Citadel of Eternity. The Decider has used it repeatedly as a hub of travel. We would meet.
A silence before the storm, the vile presence was nearing and soon we would engage. . .
In the silence I pondered my existence, I have only recently started breathing and was sent to battle almost as recent, I was created from many ‘souls’ in which I share their knowledge. I was designed to purify corruption from beyond that which we know exists.
Odd, to be created rather than to be born, I did not need to grow, yet I have the experience of many lives, Balthazar, my creator, has been followed by his alternative self, a different version of him that happened in a different time, had been born on a different world. I am to kill this alternative, Marduke, for he has committed himself to acts that the foundation of my being cannot tolerate. An incompatibility, a corruption, a festering infection of wrong ideas manifested in a single man. . .I would cleanse him, for the good of all things, and then, my purpose is mine to decide, to use the life I was given, Balthazar has been kind.

"You must be Marduke." I said.

"Who are you, what are you doing here, and how do you know of me?"
he responded, then his companion spoke.

"Tsk, this Medicus comes without a streamer, how unusual."
He seemed quite confident and careless with those words, unknowing of my intentions, until I revealed them.

"In the name of all that is pure, by the edges of space and time, I shall purify that which came from beyond, all of creation shall thank me for the noble victory that I will make this day, And the Legacy of the Medici, will be healed."
I spoke, walking along the side of the chamber we were in, keeping my gaze fixated upon my enemies.

“Prepare yourself, Decider, for your last decision has been made for you.”
And with those words, only my steps would fill the silence of the room, a deadly cold breeze coming from outside, from the maelstroms that allowed all of this to happen, until he spoke back to me.

“Heh. . .Heheh. . .Ahaha…HAHAHAHAAAA! Glorious speech! And in such an unexpected scene, oh how you will scream for your life, you tiny mongrel, you believe to stand against ‘me’?! The Lord of Corruption, the Decider of Prophecies.
I shall break you as I have broken themall! Tell me, would you think your last cry of pain to be similar to that of your countless brethren?”
He grits his teeth in a malevolent grin.
“Let's find out. . .”

It didn't take long before we struck blade to blade, his streamer did not get involved, for that is how they play this sick game. The Decider ran at me, like if a beast locked onto its prey, I could see his experience in the matter, to his surprise, I ran up the wall, jumped and sliced at him at speeds he could not perceive, for that too, was imbued into me.
The mark of my weapon remained burning upon his back, dancing blue flames enveloping the wound.
He did not stay surprised however, his arm transformed into a weapon as his fist pounded against the lower part of my torso, impaling through my armor, no, spikes, growing into every corner of my body, striking outward, a man would’ve died in an instant, but each of us is so much more than but a man.
His other hand grabbed the weapon upon his back, it was a mighty blade encarved with many crimson runes that poured the glowing blood of its many victims as he drove it through the upper part of my torso.
But he was not prepared for the enemy he was facing this day, his mutated, ugly arm felt the burning energies of which I was composed, as if his very limb was to become like ash.
He withdrew, his weapon too, but it was too late, from my wounds poured the rays of light that signified my creation, my enemy flushed by the scorching powers of the Sign as I heaved my sword and drove it into his heart, but he probably had more, for he kept bashing me with all his capability, relentless, I know now why the Messiah feared him.
We fought for hours, and hours became days. Two elements, opposed to each other, as if the earth and the air wished to replace one another, we would forever fight, never relent, till the end of time I was to fight him.
A struggle of universe personified proportions as the very hallway in which we fought chipped and crumbled only to reappear as if nothing had harmed it.
We eventually stood outside in the void of the continuum, our battle too evenly matched to end it, we would be gods that knew no peace, emblems of two realities trying to reject each other.
Until the Messiah arrived. . .And he bore the sword I later learned to be the Dominatus.
He assaulted the preoccupied Decider, impaling him with the sizable shaft of the weapon as he caught his enemy by surprise. It was a horrific sight, the Decider screamed out in sounds that could not be identified as anything that could exist within the multiverse, and was then quickly and violently consumed into the weapon. It was over in mere seconds after what seemed an endless voyage of destruction. The streamer of the Decider was nowhere in sight, I knew that they disappeared upon the death of their Medicus, probably to join the collective. Marduke, was defeated, trapped into the blade.
The Messiah Approached me, he congratulated and thanked me for my ability to subdue and wear down our common enemy so effectively whilst remaining immune to the corrupting powers. My purpose was fulfilled, what now? I was free? What would I do with this freedom? I know only one purpose, how am I to live a life when I was made a weapon.
And the Messiah, agreed. . . Unexpectedly, he shoved the blackened weapon into the heart of his own creation, the traitor, but I forgive him. For why let a weapon with a mind of its own live to interfere? I never stood a chance after that massive beating only minutes before, as I fell helplessly to the upon my knees, I too, would be consumed by the ravaging weapon, so this is what I was made for, to make way for the Messiah to save something many times greater than either of us, to defeat all odds for the betterment of all. And in that, I find solace.
There was blackness, but I remained aware, capable of observing.
The Messiah stood within the citadel as the victor, a complete silence befalling the chambers and hallways until his Streamer arrived. Their conversation was no formality, but the men remained in their posture.

Moebius: "Congratulations, Messiah, not only have our lives been spared, but we too, are closer to the fulfilment of prophecy then Marduke ever was. And now that he is tamed and we hold the power of this blade and the Temporis Orbus. We can proceed with the ritual and once they are all dead, their timelines will end, and Medicus Infinitum will begin."

Balthazar: "Then we shall proceed, without delay."

They headed into the Tomb of the Medici, untouched since their prior visit.
They approached the remnants of the broken obelisk where they had found the father so long ago. He forced the blade into the ground of the Obelisk, the Orb floated around it, they prepared the chamber for a ritual of Chronomancy of a scope that I did not imagine possible.
Then again, I know very little of the magic of time, other than my natural affinities.
As the winds of the ages cry, they gaze across the planes of possibility, as an uncountable amount of Medici are pulled to their location, each in turn directed into the sword, until no more arrive, it was quick, effective, planned out and ultimately successful.

Balthazar: "And thus, all become one. . .And not a single alternative possibility exists to our absolution, heh, I never imagined things would turn out so well."

Moebius: "Only a single piece missing, Messiah."

Balthazar: "Yes, I shall complete this, and become Medicus Infinitum."

He then walked to retrieve the weapon, gently sliding it out of its fixation, twisting it around and holding it above his head.

Balthazar: "May this moment be the 13th hour of prophecy, and bring birth to a new kind of divinity!"

He impaled himself upon the blade in a swift motion, and soon he too was consumed into the weapon, it now radiates intense amounts of energy of all kinds and methods as its resonating sounds filled the hollow chambers, the streamer awaited.

Moebius: “Anytime now. . .The Strings have been cut.”

Moebius: “. . .”

Moebius: “I expected more fireworks, did we miss something?”

Orion: "Me, perhaps?"

Moebius froze, but then quickly looked behind him, facing a Medicus and his Streamer, it was the Prophet, his invisible hand had been waiting patiently for events to unfold, and now, he has come to reclaim his prize.

Moebius: "What?! Who are you?!"

Nikodimus: "The obvious superior Medicus."

Orion: "And probably the only one that was able to resists that spectacular ritual of yours, quite a show indeed, but I’ve been dealing with these hallways aeons before your pathetic messianic puppet ever made his first breath of life."

Nikodimus: "What’s the matter, Moebius, missing some power?"
the timestreamer asked, grinning widely.

Moebius: "This is not possible!"

In his despair, and lack of power due to the death of the Messiah, he tried to hurry for the blade, yet Orion's mastery over dimensional magic warped the blade into his hand, and upon holding it, the Khronus Dominatus turned, twisted and shaped into another form; the Temporis Dominatus, and Moebius too, disappeared by this, just like Krull did when Marduke was defeated by the weapon in Balthazar’s hands.
If only the two had known what they had set in motion since the beginning, it would have spared all of us.

----------------------------------------
Chapter IX: Infinium's Dawn:
----------------------------------------
There they stood, victory was theirs.
Maxwell, Balthazar, Marduke, Origin, and all the other Medici are in the blade.
In his hand, Orion Soulbane the Infinitum Prophet, held the key to Medicus Infinitum.
However he was not very keen on impaling himself upon it, his head turned to Nikodimus.

Orion: "I won't do it."

Nikodimus: ". . .What?"

Orion: "I won't Martyr myself for the sake of this blade."

Nikodimus: "Are you joking, Orion?"

Orion: "I have seen my end long before this moment, Dimus, and I know that it is not me who is Medicus Infinitum, for I am but a single cog in its creation, I will not follow up with the road that Balthazar had designed when he first forged this weapon."

Nikodimus looked disapprovingly: "Now you disappoint me, Orion. After all this hardship you reject the ultimate result, power and infinity, the very reason of our ageless machinations."

Orion: "You take me for an idiot, Dimus?! Had Marduke killed the “Messiah” on Polaticus, had we not intervened and fused timelines once more, it would never have been in the prophecies!
It is a tool, a remnant of the Messiah, I will find a way to siphon this relic, and destroy it."

Nikodimus: "I am afraid I cannot allow that, Medicus. . ."
He fell in a battle ready caster pose, living lightening springing up around him.

Orion: "Tsk, you think to challenge me, Timestreamer?!"
He readied his own pose with the weapon in hand, and in the other, the Temporis Orbus.

They fought fiercely within the Tomb of the Medici, fireballs, lightning bolts, beams of disintegrating power shot in round, reflecting each other’s attacks, redirecting them, glaciers and cracks in the floor, volcanic geysers and collapsing statues began to fill the room as the mages dispute on what to do next, their chronomancy allowing up to ten spells at the time to be cast, a duel of not only the Arcane, but the Divine as well.
Equal in their power, Orion's possession of the relics had given him the upper hand in this battle. And he had soon overcome his streamer, blasting relentlessly at him and reflecting any counter maneuvers until before him he laid, defeated, and Orion loomed over him.

Orion: "I wonder what will happen, dear colleague, if this sword gets struck into 'you' instead, enjoy your Oblivion!"

He grabs Nikodimus by the throat and lifts him up, his strength obviously magically augmented, and puts the exhausted Timestreamer on his feet as he steps slightly backwards.

Nikodimus: "Do it then, you pathetic excuse for a Medicus, false prophet, traitor to your own."
Orion then raised the sword, the idiot, trying to defy his destiny, He would've swiftly struck the streamer, and that, I could not allow.
My agent of fate had arrived, and he would set things right.
Only minute parts of a second had stood between the Blade and its target as between them my agent Gothori appeared, with the blade gashed into its shoulder.
The blade, in contact with my agent, invoked a violent reaction that vacuumed the existence around it in a swirl of temporal energies. This action, was a paradox. Ss both onlookers felt a creeping sense of vertigo and displacement, the impossible was done; an event that should not have been possible, and with it, I had secured my creation.
The streamer was blasted to the wall as the arm that held the sword was ripped from its base, sucked into the vortex along with the mystic weapon. As unnatural and metallic sounds emanated from within, it seemed timless and forever until this aftermath of a storm subsided, not an uncommon assumption when speaking of the citadel, I suppose.
Yet it was over in mere seconds, Orion's painful screams being the last noise to fill the chamber, I was surprised that the man still felt anything. The blade and my agent, were gone.

Orion breathed heavily as he stared at the fallen streamer that approached him.
Then they stared at each other, then at Orion's missing a bloody gushing stump of an arm.
Without further words both of them left the chamber in silence, knowing what they must do next, standing side by side once more.
Heading, to their fates.

-----------------------------------
Appendix III: Dawn of War:
-----------------------------------
Another crimson red dawn shall stain the sun with blood today, another dawn of war. I will not be able to see it, deep underground in the bowels of the dungeon Lea Monde. At such a late night-time hour, my ruminations concern this dreadful foundation, which by some vile twist of fate, has saved me from my own chosen one of prophecy, but also deprived me of my victory. It conceals within these supposedly impervious walls the means of my salvation, the tool that will unite the Medici under one, and the timestreamer entity under my glorious reign! Does it believe that its fortified doors can shield it from my wrath? Does it think it's hordes of protectors capable of sheltering it, as I storm with vengeance across the corridors?
For weeks now we have been rampaging unstoppable through this maze. The band of heroes and epic adventurers we have forced here from all across the realms and times is of great assistance in defeating this treacherous labyrinth. Some follow us willingly for the sake of the adventure and challenge, others are simply compelled to. By we, of course I not only mean the other with me, but also the others in me. So close to completion, yet the timestreamer entity remains fractured and incomplete. I find myself as yet a part of the collective, sharing the collective's consciousness with my countless counterparts. Although I am obviously the superior and dominant force that controls the collective with the majority of the timestreamers willingly or forcefully submitting to my will, my ancient foretold rival Moebius and his followers among the collective stand in opposition to my reign. Even more troubling, the unpredictably demented Krull and the few who follow his fanatic philosophies stand against me. You can call me tyrant, but infinity justifies the means. The grand plan can only be executed by a strong arm, an iron fist. The legacy needs –me-, and I need Orion.
Orion. The very thought of him angers me. How dare he deny my prophecy its fulfilment! How dare he refuse to sacrifice himself for the glory of infinity? So outraging. From the beginning he was so very cocksure, so arrogant. So insolent. And as it may seem, with the skill to match. Kings and queens would bow before the thunderous clamor that foretold my presence, but Orion seemed hardly impressed. Emperors would heed my commands, but Orion merely considered my advices. Like me, Orion sees the glorious beauty of battle and enjoys it, but at that we are different. While I master the delicate nuances of strategy and tactical warfare, Orion is unmatched in pure individual combat. I believe there is no single mortal creature capable of rivalling his prowess in battle, honed over entire ages. That is why I suppose I never expected to win our single straightforward confrontation. Perhaps my anger at him comes from the fact that this single and only command I have ever given him was met with defiance. Perhaps it comes from the fact that for the first time ever I have come to face one that cannot be dominated.
Lea Monde proves to be a formidable opponent with the passing of every moment. It seems that our party fights for ground with every step we make, as if the dungeon itself is subverting against us. If not for numerous last-moment premonitions by myself or by Orion, I'm certain that we would have faced a brutal death by the vicious traps that every step might trigger. More then a few of our companions have. Behind every corner and in every hall the ever alert protectors of the labyrinth await us. Some magical variants of numerous humanoid races awaited us with weapons drawn- armies of Orcs, Ogres and Trolls, led by twisted Storm Giants. In the shadowed halls lurked other atrocious foes- sinister eye tyrants, vigilant phoenixes and wyrms chromatic and metallic alike. The air itself seems to resist our intrusion while allowing bitter enemies against us- never before have I witnessed demon, devil and celestial share a foundation and rise against a common enemy. But no Tanar'ri, nor baatezu or angel can stop our relentless progress.

Not even the twisted abominations, the antropal and infernal the maze have unleashed against us could halt our march. But as we cross this dimly lit corridor, the premonition of the doors comes to me. The doors that bar our victory, so close, so very much in reach! Across the far end of a tremendous rectangular hall. But before them I see Lea Monde's final desperate effort to stop us. A mixed jumble of Lea Monde's champions crowding together in front of the massive doors, filling the center of the vast hall with their seemingly impervious lines. Groups of devils stand shoulder to shoulder with demons, celestials shoulder to shoulder with the undead and rival humanoid races joined together. Viewing each other with distrust but compelled to stand united against the common enemy, this ridiculous combination still consists of some of the most dangerous opponents the realms can offer. As I feared it might, this sinister foundation has reserved its most lethal fighting force to be used in this final battle. The back of the enemy formation consists of Inevitables, super-soldier constructs from Mechanus, disciplined and skilled in massive combat and the use of the machine-magic cannons in the formation's rear. Even with the small platoon that survived alongside Orion and me, we were still outnumbered five to one by the enemy forces. I can see the formula of my battle plan in my mind, so daring that it just might work. I turn to tell Orion of my tactical conclusions- but he nods his agreement at me, foretelling what I am about to say through this telepathy-like temporal connection we share since our new alliance, that we have come to call Khronopathy. While Orion aligns the men according to our design, I stroke my goatee as I plan on the inevitable skirmish. It is well groomed, perfectly trimmed and rather pleasant to the touch. I find it to be quite an impressive feature that adds certain rugged masculinity to my visage, and a source of inexhaustible stroking satisfaction. Where was I?
I take my place in the first row of our wedge formation, our most capable and proven melee combatants to my sides behind me. Orion is right behind me, in the somewhat more shielded second row. It is my role to provide him with much necessary defense, as he is- quite ironically- the focus of my plan. Leading less than half the force with me, I close in the distance towards the enemy with the rest of the spearhead close by. Clearly, should we charge, we would be mutilated by the magical cannon fire of the inevitables and stopped short once we clash into the steady first line of the enemy phalanx. I however have no intention of charging in- before the enemy is in sight I summon my inherent domination over the weather to create an abnormally thick fog all across the hall, obscuring the entire battlefield with a moist gray veil. We continue to march until we are barely in sight of our enemies, their troops- even those with magical sight- just capable of discerning our outline within the magical mist before we stop. The enemy troops are drawing their weapons eagerly, but they maintain their formation and await our charge just as I have predicted. It is then that within the confinement of the mist, Orion's portal opens, in the small space formed between the back row of inevitable, their cannons right behind them, and the locked doors that are our objective. Our second strike group, small and composed of our infiltration commando specialists, hurries out of the portal and covers the small distance towards the enemy in outmost silence. By the time the inevitables sound the alarm and respond to the assault, the strike team has already organized in small squads, single members sabotaging the mechanical heavy weapons using alchemy induced explosives while their fellow squad members fend off the pressing inevitables. With the initial chaos caused in the enemy's rear diminished, the strike team members as agile and lethal as they may be, find themselves overwhelmed by the swift counterassault. Unbreakable lines of steel and the perfectly executed manoeuvering of the mechanical soldiers repel the adventurers, forcing them into a planned withdrawal but with numerous casualties. The strike team retreats into the portal, but the disciplined inevitables do not follow. Plans don’t always work out, as Orion taught me with his betrayal. Meanwhile, as the mass of the army begins to turn on its heel and press on towards its rear and the disappearing strike team, Orion forms three portals to the right flank of the force.

A bulk of our party charges through one of them, the mist concealing their thunderous charge as they cut through the unprotected flank of the distracted enemy army. The ferocity of the charge and the raw power of the epic warriors allows them to maim their opponents with ease before the disorganized enemy can respond. But as the enemy regroups and begins to press back at the vastly outnumbered flanking force, the men retreat as planned, leading after them a mass of enraged chaotic demons and savage humanoids right through the portal and the two decoys that were created with it. The plan is more successful this time, as the pursuers find on the other side of the portals yet another small taskforce- that however can easily hold off against their masses, coming through the narrow gateway where numbers mean little only to impale themselves against the spears and lances of the entrenched defenders. As this occurs, Orion manifests three more portals which open on the left flank of the enemy, through which charges the small group of our remaining men. The group charges unnoticed through the clamour of battle and pounds through the left flank of the enemy- its rear, as it pursues the original flanking group through the initial portal. The men take their heavy toll on the enemy as they move through the now far less than organized formation it maintains. At the first sign of resistance, the group hurries to imitate the course of action of their successful counterparts, leading their chasers back to a prepared taskforce on the other side of their arrival portal, as well as to the two decoys that were created with it. I smile as enemy troops move erratically across the battlefield, their directions and futile charges random and with no trace of formation or design. The enemy has sustained bearable casualties, and still outnumbers us. Little do they suspect that this entire course of action was but a feint- for the real assault will be made by the wedge-aligned force I stand in, right through the enemy's previously unbreachable front!
"Kneel before my might!" I roar and thunder echoes my words as I charge in. Behind me Orion and the rest of the wedge proclaim their own battle cries. The familiar stench of ozone fills my nostrils as the living lightning, a small storm on its own and a sentient extension of my will fills my open palm. The familiar buzz of the three saw rings of my exotic mace is heard as they begin to twirl, humming their bloodthirst as I swing it- sawing through flesh and bone. Orion strikes the ground with his scepter, unleashing a shockwave that forcefully ascends the ground in its path, earth and rock and shattered gemstones blasting unfortunate enemies all over the hall. I stomp my foot to the floor, invoking an eruption of liquid magma from the core of the earth, melting an entire group of wailing victims. The wedge breaks easily into the disorganized enemy ranks, easily maiming the single individuals and small groups lacking the support of their allies. More of them still charge at the portals, while others run around in search of opponents or simply in attempt not to be trampled by their larger allies.
Our relatively massive group makes easy progress through the bulk of the enemy force, mowing down humanoids and planar entities alike. A towering pit fiend crosses to my left towards Orion, and I move to intercept, shattering its kneecap with a powerful swing of my mace. As it topples, collapsing against its broken knee, it cracks its wicked whip across my chest, ineffective against the full plates of my armor. Its wrathful roar allows me the convenient situation in which I insert my mace into its open mouth, lifting up to allow the saw blades the cut right through and splatter his brains across the field. I catch the flash of flames as a twirling flaming blade is hurled at me at immense speed. I turn to face it, but already I spot one of Orion's infamous portals placed in its route. The fearsome balor to which it belongs seems quite surprised as the blade is teleported, maintaining its momentum, to cleave the back of his own head. I draw the steel shaft from my components belt, uttering the incantation that fuses it into liquid while launching it forth as a searing projectile through the heart of a titanic storm giant.
The unnatural divine aura around Orion seems to gleam with sacred gold as he kills, a bright beacon inspiring our allies into heroic deeds that exceed even their own recognizable capabilities- and stifling the enemy morale into hopeless despair. The acid flask grenades we have equipped our companions with prove to be of great assistance, the enhanced acid combusting into emerald flames that melt opponents into puddles. Glancing up, I see the winged celestial devas gliding across the tall ceiling in our direction, no doubt with an aerial assault in their mind. With quick improvising, I speak a complex incantation at the end of which I inhale deeply, sucking gratuitous amounts of air only to exhale them as a powerful whirlwind. I smile as the now charging celestials become trapped, unable to break free from the twirling wind currents. My smile turns to a smirk as Orion is done with his own incantation, setting my small tornado ablaze and frying the celestials in it. The whirlwind moves forward through the enemy for a while longer, wrecking havoc and clearing our path before dying away. The doors are in my sight now, but the one setback remains- the Inevitables who did not take the bait stand still between ourselves and the doors, their resolve unbroken and their lines tight. The timeframe bends before my will, reality twists and reforms around me as I force countless actions into the course of a few impossible seconds. I can see that Orion is doing the same next to me. At this moment, no less than ten chains of lightning are manifested in my open palm, only to bolster my living lightning into monstrous proportions as it leaps from my fingers into the lines of mechanical soldiers, overloading circuits and setting metal ablaze as it leaps from one to another. At this moment, no less than ten obviously enhanced and amplified fireballs shot out from Orion's scepter, putting inevitables to a volatile ending. The level of annihilation is remarkable. With this last bastion of Lea Monde's power destroyed, our enemies seem to lose heart and flee the battlefield. The dungeon's claim over them is clearly reduced to nothing. Some of our companions allow them escape, others chase them down. But we have greater things to see to. I look to Orion, and he looks to me. We look to the doors. Our glorious fate awaits us.
Outside a red dawn paints the heavens. A dawn of war.

---------------------------
Chapter X: Rapture:
---------------------------
The false Prophet and his Streamer strode upon their chariots, they travelled across the bounds of time for the last time, their magnificent flaming, spectral steeds carving the way to destiny, my destiny, the "only" destiny.
Neither willing to give up the prize they had plotted towards for so many centuries.
To them there was only one outcome, without the Messiah and the Decider, they would ultimately become the victors that would complete the legacy, with or without the “delay” that I have given them, ignorant idiots.
An enemy unknown to them had entered the fray, and they were ill-prepared to face me.
Through dimension and time, through dreams and reality, they arrived on the top of the great mountain of Leá Monde. They knew the sword was hidden here.
The world was an oddity, yet full of powerful history that remained buried underneath entire mountains of rock and metal, the few, deserted establishments of civilizations were no more than meeting points for adventures that deemed themselves capable to uncover the hidden secrets.
The Prophet gathered and recruited these bands of mighty heroes, believing they knew the way as he led them deeper and deeper into the strange world, the labyrinths would go over into untouched caves, many of their companions defaulted in search of the fortune they left behind in their descend. But they kept going regardless, looking for the sword with an undeniable zeal, looking, for me. A pursuit that had taken an uncountable amount of lifetimes would some come to a closure, with every step down, a second further ticks the clock to the 13th hour of prophecy. He had also replaced his missing arm with a construction, convinient I suppose.
At last, they opened the door. . .And they strode in, just the two of them. Within it they found a chamber, older than anything they had ever conceived, lit by radiating gems encrusted into the cavernous walls, placed in the formation of many star constellations around this world. Then they saw, central to the room, a great machine unlike any architecture they had ever seen, it looked as if it no longer functioned, and to what purpose it served was unknown to them. But I know, this was the machine that brought Maxwell to this twist in time’s spiral. This is where all became full circle, this, is where I became one.
As they entered the room the raving spirits of dead Medici screamed and wailed across the walls, pointlessly crying for a redemption of this brutal legacy, and before them was, on a simple and primitive stone altar, the sword.
Warping into existence on a large pentagram before the altar was the one that took the sword at the Tomb Room. An emaciated humanoid creature, other than its plain clothes and cloak it bore a hood that only revealed a face as reflective as a mirror. It was my agent of fate that stood before them.

Gothori: “Welcome, Prophet, to the grounds of your testing, do you truly believe to be worthy of this sword? Then prove yourself once and for all, the sword is without a wielder, and has fallen to the corruption of the Decider, for the Cerulean One cannot act from within the blade without a streamer. As by dictation of the truth that will unfold, the sword has passed through the hands of the chosen ones and is now ready.”

Orion: “Hrmp! I do not care for your pitiful game. For taking my sword and arm from me you will pay the highest price. I am here to obliterate you and reclaim that which is mine.”

Gothori: “It begins. . .”

My agent motioned to a grandfather clock that was built into the machine behind the altar, the smaller hand pointing to a 13th symbol present on the disk, whilst the longer points straight upwards, 13 times did the clock strike, and with its final strike, my agent was gone.

The Earth trembled and the ancient winds of past times whirled through the chamber as the wails of the spirits raved ever so madly, dark, alien and vile energies enveloping the sword as the runes inscribed upon it dripped of blood, streamed of blood, and from that blood, the Decider manifested, a display as gruesome as the Prophet had gotten used to from his adversary. Then he stood there, clad fully in his armor, with the sword grown into his arm.

Marduke: “I will not be undone, I will not be contained, I shall not be held prisoner within this wretched universe, not by this bloody Legacy or by some fraudulent, blue coloured copy of a Medicus, and especially not by this wretched weapon. I SHALL BE FREE!!!”

Orion: “Very Cute, Decider, but your efforts have been in vain, as has been prophesised aeons before you or the Messiah had drawn your first breath, longer before the worlds you inhabited became civilized, on this hour, I shall become Medicus Infinitum.”

The two of them assumed their preparations for battle, as the Prophet raised his scepter, calling upon the power of the elements to him, six spheres and their interconnected powers emerged around him as he opened the assault with relentless blasts of fire, ice, lightning, magma, spikes of the earth and missles of the purest magical and divine.
The Decider moved in, disregarding half of the assaults directed at him, swatting a few out of the air with the bladed arm as he makes a charge with the lethal weapon.
The prophet whips out the Temporis Orbus, laughing malevolently as he does so, for with a single gesture the decider was suspended in time, the Prophet then grabs forth a glass prism, crushing it in his metallic hand as he weaves together an entire arsenal of attacks, within a mere ten seconds the suspension ends, only for the decider to meet various spheres of destructive hellfires, followed by a tide of magma and earthen stalagmites and finished with a freezing cold blizard that fills the chamber.

Orion: “What’s the Matter, you only need hit me once with that, don’t tell me that you are unable to.”

The Decider raged, turning into an absolvent mass of flesh and bones that remained vaguely humanoid, avoiding another folly of spells in this grotesque semisolid shape, and enduring through the prolonged tide of magma, moving in with supernatural speeds as he appears before the Prophet, jabbing forth the mighty sword in the abdomen of his enemy, or his own, as a reflective sheen springs to life around the prophet, redirecting the weapon back to the Decider, who manipulates his form to avoid it, grabbing the Prophet with his other, large and long grapple-like mutant arm and hurling him onto one of the walls.
It doesn’t take long for the Decider to pursuit as his form turns solid once more as a winged humanoid, he dashes forward after his enemy to impale him to the wall.
But then, the Decider is stopped in his tracks, the metal arm of the Prophet had grabbed the blade, and within only a split second the Prophet unleashed a mighty storage of divine powers that hurl the Decider back, systematically enhancing the Prophet’s ability as he shapes his Scepter into an extended staff, holding it out before him as a weapon.

Orion: “Come then, I’ll beat you at your own game, as your resilience shows too much for mere spells to handle.”

Marduke: “DIE.”

The Decider opened many eyes upon his body, revealing to belong to a Beholder’s as a folly of deadly negative energy rays headed for the Prophet, unprepared for this, he manages to get hit a few times, before redirecting the attacks back again, however these seem to only strengthen the Decider. The prophet summoned the full reservoir of his divine spells, the staff-scepter’s gem pulsating with golden radiance as he moves in at the impossible speeds that the Orbus provided, he hit once, twice, thrice, a continued assault of immense speeds, each of the attacks forming explosive, positive bundles of instable energy on hitting the Decider, who stood little chance without holding the Orbus himself.
A total of twelve hits beat down upon him, as the Prophet then weaved a spell together that disintegrated his opponent’s arm. He then commanded the winds to carry the blade away, forcefully blowing it into the rockside of the chamber.
The Decider still stood however, his endurance seemingly boundless.

Orion: “Still standing? My my, how do you manage to sit on a chair?”

Marduke: “Do you think this is Funny?! FUNNY?!!? I’ll SHOW YOU WHAT’S FUNNY!”

The Decider’s body shifts, his voice turns into a static noise as he seems to be calling upon the powers from beyond. His own body serving as a node for them to reach, various bloody elementals and nightmares jump from his battered body, leaving their own wounds behind, he then forced his own arm into one of the wounds, and drew a blade from it.
A blade of pure black madness, eyes upon the handle, mouths upon the backside of its alien sabre, the edge crooked and jagged as the weapon seems to claw at the reality surrounding its foundations.
The Prophet defended himself from the summoned horrors rather effectively, as fast as it took the Decider to draw arms, as the Temporis Orbus was once again used.
Time stops and the Prophet swings the mightiest blow he could’ve given with his staff, but it was caught, the Decider moved, the earth quaked as the infective madness that has taken a hold of him seeps out into the suspension of time, refusing to bend to the effects of the Orbus. The Prophet was completely caught off guard as the black blade jabbed into his shoulder. He let out a scream of pain, and he was stabbed again in the abdomen, the sword was twisted within him, tearing his guts. It retracted again, ripping out his insides before gashing into the other side of his body, cleaving a lung. From there the weapon remained still as spikes jutted out of it on all sides, eviscerating the Prophet form the inside as his entrails poured over the floor.
The metallic arm clicked, remaining unhindered by the torture and having been routing the Prophet’s Divine and Arcane energies to the scepter staff all the fight long, all of it.
The Metallic Arm then swiftly forced the scepter into one of the many wounds of its gloating enemy and in a mere instant a massive exchange of energy takes place, an explosive stream of energy flew from all crevices of the Decider as the Prophet is hurled backwards by the blast of his own weapon, blooded, gasping and twitching, yet prepared with a potion, one that would heal him to a stable state. As he soon stood once more. The Decider was lying beaten in one corner of the room’s pentagram, silent and unmoving as a corpse.
Nikodimus, who had waited for the outcome, had retrieved the blade, and he walked to his victorious Medicus.

Nikodimus: "And thus we have won again, as always, and I believe this is yours."

Orion extends his hand to receive the blade, then, Nikodimus suddenly impaled him instead.

Orion: "!? Dimus?! What are you doing!! The blade! It’ll--"
He was cut off by the Timestreamer.

Nikodimus: "We are tired of your incompetence, Orion. Your foolish endeavour will never lead to the unification of the Medicus, all of our plots and ploys, all of our attempts to understand what this entire road we have collectively walked meant, we have finally found our answer, the sword has taken your place and the thirteenth hour will strike 'now'."

Orion: "You. . .You."

Nikodimus only smirked as he looked uppon the baffled response: "It's been a pleasure working with you, Orion, however now is a time for you to be silent."

A current of temporal energies ran through the streamer's arm into the blade and through Orion. The blade itself shattered completely, time stopped, yet all the pieces remained in a slowmotion, the broken down machine sprang to life with many clicks, beeps and zaps as the noble opponents felt the imminent threat of a paradox much larger than they had ever constructed. A terrifying thought that must be, to feel the impossible approach you. The Spirits of the Medici were ripped from their walls into the particles of the blade, each sucked in the metallic whirlwind to be refined by the power of their ultimate maker.
The machine collapsed under the pressure of the paradox that this hour represented as the sword reformed back into shape as if time rewinded its destruction, more glorious than ever, the handle reflected a platinum gold, the tip encrusted with a glowing sapphire, the bulk of the blade itself was dark and decorated with complex green glowing glyphs.
The very edge of the weapon was of a bright silver metal. Nikodimus held it high above his head in silence, awaiting destiny to make it’s move.
The power of the Medici reforged as one. By Maxwell’s original paradox the chamber filled with their many agonizing screams, the spirits and essence of the multitude were bound to the remade blade through innumerable rays of light as their whirlwind circles around the pentagram, Maxwell’s machine reversed, the stage was set.
Orion took a few steps back, and by a strange, compelling turn of fate, stopped exactly on one of the pentagram points, collapsing upon his knees by the lethal, unexpected wound that the sword had caused.
The spirits of Origin, Balthazar and Maxwell were pulled from the storm, yet with a much more calm certainty than the maddened tempest of spirits that the rest had become, they took place upon the remaining edges of the pentagram.

Origin: "Infinitum...A flawed theory, for a flawed man."

Balthazar: "Witness the birth of the Eternal Wanderer, and behold our Messianic absolution!"

Maxwell: "Tick, tock, tick, tock. Your time is up, and thus my resurrection is complete."

The old man, finally seen as who he is, smiled deviously at Orion, who did nought but stare back, in utter disbelief. Both amazed and terrified of what played out before his eyes.
All the circling spirits of all the Medici converge in a massive display of different energies into the middle of the pentagram, each of the Chosen Ones drawn into it, and all space, time, and reality, shatter around them as they disappear into the continuum, and I would finally come to be.
The Inner Sun of the Messiah, the Ageless Body of the Prophet, the Outer Mind of the Decider, the Soul of the Dead Father and the Pure Spirit of the Cerulean Sogm. All present to this place of destiny, all powers inflicting themselves upon this hour and place. To unite that which was broken, from era upon era since the dawn of creation.
Here, “I” was born.

[couchninja]

The Eternal Medicus
-----------------------------------------
Chapter XI: Codex Illuminatus:
-----------------------------------------

I stood there.
No, 'we' stood there, the Origoth is one, each of us in congregation within the a single entity, not one of us has achieved dominance, the prophecy has been fulfilled and we are one, as must be the Medicus.
We gazed about, only seeing random fractures of land on which we walked, floating in a misty, dark, nothingness.
Scraps of forgotten places and times. T'was the Continuum.
We summoned our chariot of time and strode away, pondering what has transpired, we concluded that Orion's Infinitum theory was, indeed, flawed, but how and why? He was at the apex of victory, was it the sword that changed everything? Or the mysterious competition that the two faced.
Many of our prophecies must've been wrong as well. Sure, power was gained, and not a little bit of it either, we might've entered some kind of godhood somewhere halfway along this aeon spanning voyage, but they simply, did not end up correctly.
Eventually we emerged among the temporal sands that had spawned us. Nearing in on the Citadel of Eternity, we stepped in, walking the endless corridors, tracing the footsteps that Balthazar set so long ago.
we finally reached the door, "Tomb of the Medici", it was labelled above.
we gently ordered the massive stone gates to open, and observed the room as we walked through it, all seems in place, until we reached what appeared to be a new section that hadn't existed before.
This chamber was filled with books, it seemed as if history had reshuffled by the 13th hour, so much in fact that time itself has finally accepted our presence here, and has given us a great library containing all our prophecies filed in sections divided under various timestreamer philosophies. Central to the room was one big, open book in particular, against the white marble wall.
It was labelled as the Codex Illuminatus.
Compelled by its size, we decided to read the page it was on, it spoke of a historical record, in fact, it spoke of the exact event of us reading this book right now. Interesting; has fate given us the volumes that it determined for us?
A book from which the contents changes at every twist and turn that leads our destinies to forge new pathways?
We decided to flip to the first pages, and found an Index.
It had many subjects familiar to us, such as the Medici and their nature, the timestreamer relation they had and the correct Infinium Theory, along with Orion's interpretation and connection to a few of its constants.
We flipped through many a page, until we stumbled upon articles that spoke of the Mysterious Sword that has taken its place within the legacy, and its different incarnations.
The Khronus Dominatus, lord of time. As wielded by Balthazar.
The Temporis Dominatus, lord of the continuum, as wielded by Orion.
The Infectus Dominatus, lord of corruption. As wielded by Marduke.
These three people were described in prophecy and legend to be the Messiah, the Prophet and the Decider.
The ones that would and have conquered the Legacy for their own ends. However, below them a surprise unveils itself.
The Eternus Dominatus, lord of eternity. As wielded by Alexander.
This name, it had not been shown anywhere else as of yet, no Medicus to our knowledge bore Alexander as a name. This must be Medicus Infinitum introduced by the Dominatus. We searched through the book for more reference materials of this Alexander, the book was filled with ancient, secret lores of the old Imaskari people and numerous Mechamancy blueprints, and information on the worlds from which our legendary champions hailed.

One blueprint in particular was very interesting; a machine called the Infinium Throne, would be capable of stealing divine energy from the gods, it looks as if Imaskari Artifice was combined with the power of Mechamancy here, and based on the design of Maxwell’s final machine, very interesting. Other than this they found extensive articles about the nature of time and Chronomancy along with old legends of the Cerulean Sign and its origins, we spent a good month combing through this book, reading through all the available material. Eventually, we reached a chapter labelled Medicus Infinium.
It seemed that a most unusual scenario has played out.
Each of the critical events that transpired throughout the Legacy:
Orion's successful fusion of the timelines, twice, Marduke's defiance to the Legacy, Balthazar's creation of Origin and the Sword.
The coins ended on their heads and tails throughout the Legacy, with exception of the final event, when Nikodimus betrayed and struck down his own Medicus, the coin, landed on its edge.
No Prophecy prepared us for this event, no possible outcome was the correct one, Alexander's creation was not a possibility.
We did not understand, until we read further, Gothori, the Agent of Fate, was sent by Alexander into the past in order to set up the events for this debacle.

We found this fascinating, yet equally odd, for we had no idea where Gothori came from. Alexander seemed to be partially responsible for his own creation, a genius maneuver, would this be a game of chess.
And quite an ontological paradox as well, for how would something that is not possible, make itself possible?
As we read on we found most of the answers we sought:
When all Medici entered the blade, the blade generated a single united being from the five most prominent of the Medici, with the quintessence of the others to fuel it. Alexander was no traditional Medicus, much like Origin and Maxwell, he had no streamer, perhaps Gothori as a point that tied these three together, born from the paradox of the legacy?
The final pages of the book where about Marduke, the Aberrant and Decider, the Alienist that had defied the very foundations of the Grand Plan, for he left time behind in his lust for power and thus altered the fundaments of the Legacy, the chapter was filled with the incomprehensible truths about the Beyond, we would view those on another day, for it was in no written language.


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Chapter XII: Round the Clock:
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We gazed further around the chamber, noticing a rumble through the Oristone, beneath it would lay the single strand of crystallized temporal sands that would hallmark our eternity, but not yet, and not this hour, for now it was a portal, and it took us away.
We found ourselves in a chapel doorway, before us there stood a man, standing in front of a giant painting, in the distance we could already see the entire legacy play out upon it, as it has been, as it should always be, as it has willed to be, and forever will be.
The man spoke.

"Origoth, it has been a while..Come, let us walk."

We left the chapel, walking next to a peaceful stream.

"'Tis over, my friend. You have struck the thirteenth hour."
He said

We kept the silence for only a minute, as we pondered the sacrifices that had been made as we walk past the waters.
"We know, 'tis a pity of the Medici, but this is for the best. We also read that you have set this final turn of events in motion, very impressive."

"Aye, and have you finally satiated the doubt that you were spawned from?"

We looked back to our beginnings, and realized that we had achieved so much more than we would have ever hoped.
"Yes, and we are pleased, for our power has become tremendous, furthering whenever you reach a new height."

Alexander smiled as he continued.
"And thus all has fallen into place. And when the next twist in the spiral of time comes, neither end nor dawn will undo us, and history will be faced by true eternity, let from this moment be known to the furthest reaches of the past to the end of each future what we have become, let the forces of history and paradox that would oppose us tremble before our monumental achievement of impossibility."

We looked over the river that we had traversed, walked by in silence as we gazed upon the reflection of time, streaming into many more canals that go back and forth, around and against each other, an ordered maelstrom with the occasional distortion caused by a prominent obstruction...And time goes on...

The only frontier that has ever existed, is the self.
~Alexander De'Medici.

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Chapter 13: Bob & George:
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The most epically un-epic of the Medici, Vincent Bob "The Medic" Winston is renowned for his not so valorous adventures.
After having found himself in the Genius Loci known as Siflige, he settles down, trying to get a job.
After failing as a tavern cleric, Bob went on to become a great inventor but failed at that as well due to sharing his ideas with Erik Navkire, who trademarked them and became rich.
Soon after Bob won the lottery and became wealthy beyond imagination, prancing about like he owns the place and taking the liberty to live out his cleric aspirations by resurrecting everyone he finds. . .Even his enemies.
His story ends after he found a peaceful death by a blade to the gut at the hands of a handicapped midget, who had earlier lost a game of badger chess with him.

Around the same time his timestreamer George finds out that his girlfriend had an affair with a clown.
He challenged the clown to a jousting match, mounting a lance and a nightmare steed against the clown's ferocious unicycle and pointy umbrella. There were no survivors.

[couchninja]

I just noticed chapter VIII was missing, uploaded it now.