Legend of Ransera

Khyan lifted his head to gawk in disbelief at Æros.

"Oh, so you were killing me, sending my soul to the Void and stealing my body so you could give me the world?" He shook his head, "I'd have gotten over your death. I will never get over your betrayal." To Khyan's stark satisfaction, Shæoth began to wield the power of the Void to flay the flesh from his deceiver. Flesh that he'd once taken pleasure in caressing, he now relished in the sight of its rending. He could not feel the abject agony elicited from this vibrant violence, but his Sembling gaze could tell that it was a terror beyond trauma. Such pain as mortals were not meant to endure. Were he truly alive he'd have died well before the pain stopped. Such agony had to write itself onto the very soul once housed in those tatters of flesh.

When nothing was left for his physical eyes to see, he could still sense the presence of Æros' Aura, as Shæoth addressed his former lover before turning to speak to him.

Wearing a snake-fanged smile, Khyan looked to the loftier figures... to Aværys, whose golden gaze felt familiar, though those eyes had been worn by Finn when last they regarded him.

"I have failed You. I lacked focus, lost Power and wasn't Hungry enough to regain it. I have found my appetite. I remain your servant and if Your Radiant Vassal calls upon me and I am able to answer, I shall." He looked then to Shæoth.

"Now that I have found my Ambition, I thank You for your aid in its realisation." He looked to the empty spot where Æros had been and considered the education in agony Shæoth had just provided. He was but a mortal, and yet he would strive toward dealing even greater heights of misery to the object of his enmity. A quote from an old play came to mind, which broadened his smile as he spoke it:

"The villainy you teach me I will execute, and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction." He looked, next to Varvara, bowing his head.

"And now, my Sacrifice, Domina Divina. Morituri Te salutant." And with a final nod to his goddess, he took Shæoth's cue, and stalked to the end of the platform. The heat wafting up from the core of Sorokyn was stifling and the grey air made his mortal lungs choke. This would be painful, but nothing approaching what he would deal Æros. The Founders watched as Khyan extended his arms and, without even pausing at the ledge, walked off and tumbled, smiling against the heat searing the flesh of his face.

Aværys and Varvara turned to Shæoth and bowed, as a blood-red spectral form shot forth like an eruption from Sorokyn, hovering behind the Prince of the Void. Khyan felt powerful... he felt severe. He didn't just have purpose, he was purpose now. There was one thing that had never really occurred to him about vengeance until he was its exemplar: It was fun.