Esone stumbled, his consciousness overwhelmed by the sudden influx of Underworld Essence. The flow of the world reversed itself, mote respiration suddenly feeling like a cat being stroked in the wrong direction. Clutching the sides of his head, the Scourge screamed wordlessly in agony. Sabaton's cry echoed a refrain, the faintest reverberations of the Coadjutor's wail actually reaching the physical world. The two lowed in a disastrous harmony, piercing the conceptual fabric of existence to visit the landscape with the very essence of horror made sound, shredding through spirits, torturing Fair Folk and shattering mortal souls. Several unfortunate bystanders were shaped into solid crystal statues frozen in the agony of their final death throes. Only the shelter of Silver Boughs protected his companions from the damage the cry wrought, a pattern of argent roots and branches making themselves visible along the ground.<br/><br/>The Reapers had broken through the skien of the world, and with them had come the perverse causality of the Underworld. To a disciple of the world shapers, the sensation was anathema incarnate.<br/><br/>Only when the first Husk laid into him did Esone snap out of his stupor, the heretical creature sinking it's claws into his back. Something snapped in the Hushbringer at that moment, all of his repressed rage welling to the surface in an instant. He whipped around, slamming his fist into the Husk's skull. Metallica formed mid-flight, extending down his arm and reverberating with the impact. The husk went flying, it's skull mashed into a fine red mist. It caught another of it's kind mid-flight, snapping the obstacle in twain. Esone's chest heaved, eyes wild.<br/><br/><span style="color: #000000">THE END IS NIGH! SUMMON THE ALASKAN BULL MAW!</span><br/><br/>Sabaton's urging was almost unnecessary, Esone's Essence already drawing a specimen from within the Spooky Aquarium of his soul. For a moment, the area around him merely shimmered and distorted as if exposed to heat. Then, with such abruptness that it was almost impossible to believe it hadn't been there a minute before, a massive serpent coiled in mid-air about the Infernal. Sinuous, 50 feet long, stone-grey with a gapping maw and no distinguishable face, the creature swam through the air as if it was water. This behemoth was an aquatic breed of the Thresher Maw, albeit one mutated by the vitriolic pollutants of Kimbery's waters. The nearest Husks were swallowed with barely a pause, vanishing down an immense gullet. Another two Maws slithered into existence, coiling into living shields for Team Saber and herding together clusters of civilians.<br/><br/>As the beasts did their work, Esone knelt. The battle was upon them, and they were vastly outnumbered. He needed to even the odds.<br/><br/><span style="color: #000000">Pity poor Oramus, for if he could activate this charm his troubles would cease. Alas, the Incarna decreed that only his most restrictive jouten would be admitted into the realms of the real. Green Sun Princes face no such bindings, and may call forth their bloody majesty into Creation at will.</span><br/><br/>Esone's form shattered, transforming himself into a cape of billowing red fluid draped around a humanoid emptiness, crowned with a wreath of Crimson fire. In this form, he could be everywhere and nowhere. He could move anywhere he was aware of, no matter how impossible to reach it was. He could hold any damage he suffered Elsewhere, committing motes based on the severity.<br/><br/>While wearing the crimson crown, the Infernal had dominion over many unreal kingdoms. No matter how many foes took the field against him, he would never be disadvantaged to their volume. Any troops routed by the Infernal would be added to his kingdom as a Shaping effect. The subjects would dragged screaming (often by tentacles) to realms beyond, never to return. Spirits of all manners would be destroyed instantly, only Exaltations returning after an indeterminate amount of time. Much good that would do agains the undead, but it couldn't hurt.<br/><br/>As the Crimson King rose up, he blinked to the head of his pet Maw. In one hand something was taking shape, a stylized scarlet Daiklave reminiscent of a scissor blade. Born of Heresy, forged from Beyond the World in the flames of the Demon City. Reality rippled at it's passing, patterns of pure Chaos trailing it the wake of the wicked cutting edge. Like a general preparing calling a charge, The Crimson King pointed his blade at the nearest of the Reapers and let loose a war cry. From somewhere beyond causality, Something responded in kind. A song began to take shape, a World-Whale's Keening. A refrain to the Space Monster Scream that had ripped itself from Esone's throat, the statues left by the former charm shattered beneath the resonance into innumerable crystalline fragments that hazardously peppered the area. The keening shifted to a voice that echoed out it's song into the minds of all, stretching across the city in a silent symphony<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Father on bended knee<br/>I ask thee<br/>Raise thy hand<br/>We the sons of Odin<br/>Await thy command<br/>Born under the sign<br/>Of the hammer we stand<br/>And here we all may die<br/>Our blood on the ground<br/>The battle horns sound<br/>Let thy valkyries fly</span><br/><br/>The Silver Forest's myriad reflections are all the army Szoreny will ever need. Esone channeled Szorney's power, the effort of manifesting another Yozi through Oramus' Shintai draining extra motes from his rapidly diminishing pool. Dozens of mirror copies of himself manifested, ripping and rippling into existence, all animated and capable. A legion of a thousand reflections.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Down from the sky<br/>Into the fight<br/>Hearts full of rage<br/>Full of thunder and glory<br/>Swords in the wind<br/>Crossing the sky<br/>Lords of doom<br/>Bring an end to their story</span><br/><br/>Overhead a Hergan storm brewed, rainbow slurries and prismatic lightning falling amidst rushing exhalations of flensing wind and melancholy hail. Mortals were spared the worst effects, most continuing to flee with delirious smiles plastered across their faces. Soldiers on the other hand absorbed the concentrated madness, drawing the thunder and fury into themselves for surer strikes and reckless abandon.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Today is the day<br/>We die in the fight<br/>None shall remain to pass one more night<br/>Now valhalla's calling us immortal<br/>We are gods of war<br/>Immortal<br/>We are gods of war</span><br/><br/>A Harvester swooped low, blasts of lapis-lazuli energy beating down upon the original Crimson King. Esone's Anima swelled, it's normal stone lion and radioactive radiance replaced by a churning mandala of silver branches and seven emerald angle wings. The wings shuddered, but held, repelling the Shaping effect that accompanied the massive internal disruption. The blast itself was consumed by the mandala, feeding the reservoirs of the Crimson King. He blinked again, appearing midair amidst a cyclone of bloodily wind to sheer the beast in two, only to reappear hovering above the Maw's crown in the next instant. The only signs that he had moved were the split corpus of the Harvester and the strips of bloody wind that held The Crimson King inches aloft his beast's head.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Odin here the fallen wait<br/>To join thee by thy side<br/>Let valhalla's gates open wide</span><br/><br/>The Thousand Reflections Legion suddenly blazed with a sickly emerald radiance, their crimson blades alight with Green Sun Nimbus Flares. With an unreal roar they took the field, scything through twisted abominations like a molten razor through butter. Husks wailed, Cannibals erupted in Malfean fire, and Ghosts of all stripes discorporated beneath the chimerical onslaught. The forces of Oblivion were pressed back by sheer force, a few Ghostbloods and Specters attempting to flee but snatched away by ultraviolet pseudopods to realms unknown.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Born under the sign<br/>Of the hammer they lived<br/>And here they fought and died<br/>Their blood on the ground<br/>The battle horns sound<br/>Let thy valkyries fly</span><br/><br/>More monsters akin to the Maws took shape. Nightmares, an army of Meanwhiles and Neverweres, led by the Could've Been King. They were but Illusion, yet to the Ghosts and Abyssals who were now entering the fray, they seemed all too real. Horrors that dwelt beneath the bed manifested before their terrified victims, some of the more faint of heart actually dying of fright. Within his borders, Szoreny rules the senses. Sleeping in his eternal prison, Oramus’ seven wings stretch in invisible directions, touching the minds of all around him with horror beyond horrors. Ululating Nightmare Wings burst Into the Looking Glass, drowning the world in terrors as easily as Herga's raging storm drowned it in insanity.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Down from the sky<br/>Into the fight<br/>Hearts full of rage<br/>Full of thunder and glory<br/>Swords in the wind<br/>Crossing the sky<br/>Lords of doom<br/>Bring an end to their story</span><br/><br/>Endless comets bloodied the skies, the firmament crashing down around them. 042 stood astride one of the Maws, it's heavy weapons platforms screaming out a challenge to the dead ranks that filled the battlefront. Shoulder-turret blazing in a form of Anti-Air defense, wrist-mounted machine-guns alight with Jade and Soulsteel bullets, the Geth was a beacon of deadly brinkmanship. Heat radiated off of the Alchemical in ravaging gouts, blackening the thick blubbery hide of the demon worm it rode. Civilians screamed and huddled within the merge sanctuary the drone of the guns marked out, projectiles drumming an impregnable wall around the writhing Wurm.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Today is the day<br/>We die in the fight<br/>None shall remain<br/>To pass one more night<br/>Now valhalla's calling us<br/>Immortal<br/>We are gods of war<br/>Immortal<br/>We are gods of war</span><br/><br/>Electrical charges loosed from Bau's fingertips, shards of Omnitool projectiles seeking out foes with magnetized precision. The Salarian had overreached himself, however, and was rapidly being drawn into the enemy's heavy melee line. The Crimson King took heed, drawing a long, deep breath and filling his Elsewhere lungs with Essence. He then did-yet-did-not exhale, and a thick cloud of clinging, cool Cytherean mist billows from his nonexistent lips. The Shroud of Whispering Mist swirled to fill an area of 500 yards in diameter, rapidly thickening to hinder sight. Where the mist settled, thick roots and vines sprout wildly from the ground, hampering everyone trapped within the radius. Voices whispered from the fog, of the agenda of the Mother, subliminally reaching the ears of all those within the area.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Down from the sky<br/>Into the fight<br/>Hearts full of rage<br/>Full of thunder and glory<br/>Swords in the wind<br/>Crossing the sky<br/>Lords of doom<br/>Bring an end to their story</span><br/><br/>But it was not enough. Such power surged through that which was once Esone, the power of a Shintai. It was the incarnation of one of the Primordials, one of their conceptual facets given form. The highest pinnacle of a charm chain that an Infernal could master. Such power could not be denied, and the lure of the Yozi whose house it was brought more charms to the fore almost without the consent of Esone-Who-Was-And-Would-Be. He was emulating Nishkriya itself, The Sword, Shinma of Conflict. The Crimson King called upon What Is And What Should Never Be with a virtual sundering of reality, dreams and madness bubbling around his emptiness as he began to Play The Music, Light The Lights. More Ghosts routed before the terrible tide of Chaos that took shape, The Crimson King's presence instilling terror as easily as the Wyld Zone manifested itself around him. Just as with his Space Monster Scream and World Whale Keening, a Shelter Of Silver Boughs Sheltered The Troupe from the brunt of the Wyld taint.<br/><br/><span style="color: #000000">How can these mobile lumps of clay stand to live in such drear? Oramus shall give them a glimpse of profound horror, such that they shall never forget the powerful dramas enacted just beyond their vision!</span><br/><br/>Even Sabaton was driven to the brink; drunk on the pure power of the worldmakers that coursed through That-Which-Could-Be-Esone. In some far corner of Beyond the World, Vertigo whimpered, for it's connection to Esone's gear had drawn it into realms that should not be comprehended. It knew the terrible and magnificent destiny that was unfolding, exposed as it was to the limitless realm of all that was not and would never be. To know such secrets was to dance at the border of Sacheverel, to know the shape of things to come. Only Dharma, Nirupadhika, Nirvikalpa, Nirguna and Nirvishesha kept that at bay, the power of The Shinma That Is Not obscuring it's true nature by denying the paradox of it's siblings.