It came without warning and passed just as fast. Before it, immortals marauded as gods. After, those self-styled deities found themselves confronted with their internal clock. Some went mad. Some raged. Some cried, some fought, some dug deep for ways to regain what had been lost, not realizing that nothing was taken from them - only changed.
Razel appeared in front of his manor, his face awash with confusion and concern. He dashed across the bridge in front of him and skipped up the steps at its end to kneel before the statue of his Patron. His retreat was as quiet as it had always been, but the silence felt heavier than he remembered. The eyes behind the mask on the statue were empty, lacking even the consumptive void that divulged her presence. Instead of shadow, he saw stone. He tried anyway.
“O Night, there has been a change of horrific proportion. I request your presence at your earliest convenience.”
Oppressive silence was her only answer. He waited, then waited some more, and finally realized there was not going to be a reply. He stood and stepped up to the mask, then lifted it gently from the statue to turn it over in his hands. It had been a gift, a manner of focusing his abilities, but instead he used it as the centerpiece to his shrine. As an object directly generated by her, it made contacting her much easier across literally unreal distances. Now he felt a pressure from it as he ran his fingers across the porcelain, like a hand trying to claw through a sheet. His face drained of color and he felt a very mortal sense of unease.
“What has been done...”
He sat at her base, staring at the face in his hands. He thought back to his first contact with her, remembering the realm she held as a personal sanctum. He made a point to avoid going there if possible - his own experience in tracking planeswalkers made him paranoid as to the possibility of his own trail being breached. Now he could think of no likelier place to find her. He placed his forehead against the cold ceramic and pressed between spaces, shunting himself and the mask into a dichotomy in monochrome.
Her Honden was split at the horizon between the polished white stone and the void above. He looked around the endless expanse as he stood, but found no features with which to orient himself. His hand fell to his side as he dangled the mask in despair. A rush of relief overwhelmed him as he saw the shadows encroaching on him, his vision filling entirely with the darkness as she coalesced around him. The relief was short lived, and he found it changed to fury as he saw her condition.
Her mask...no, her face...was fractured and gouged, claw marks raked in a hash of revenge to seep liquid shadows. Her features were still and her skin was inhumanly fair, and at a distance Razel doubted he could tell it from the mask he held in his hands. He gingerly stepped closer to her manifestation and raised the mask to her face. He thought he spied a smile as he returned the gift, but couldn’t be sure. He felt another rush of relief from the darkness that held him as it regained a measure of its vitality. She spoke to him through the shadows.
You are later than I had anticipated, yet now I find myself in your debt.
He casually waved away her potential concern.
“Not at all. You have helped me immeasurably, it is quite literally the least I can do.”
He paused.
“You anticipated me?”
You know why you are here. I fear I do as well.
“What happened?”
To me, or to you?
“Yes.”
I was attacked by another Planeswalker in revenge for actions resulting from my own. I sought assistance from others of your kind, and he killed them as well. He believes me dead, but I persist with my realm.
Razel’s eyes narrowed.
“So who is it I have to kill?”
This foe is beyond you, Razel.
“I refuse to stand for attacks on my own.”
He thought he felt a moment of mirth.
Admirable but suicidal. Let us revisit this conversation after we address your concerns.
He took a deep breath before continuing.
“Something happened.”
So specific.
“I’ve changed. No...we’ve changed. ‘Walkers, I mean. The Eternities, too. The boundaries between worlds are sturdier than ever.”
Something has changed within the root of the realities themselves.
“Precisely. I can still ‘walk, but...I am weaker. I do not heal autonomously. Many of my senses are deadened, only to reveal themselves with focused effort at a fraction of their former potential.”
Your spark has dimmed.
He frowned heavily.
“I fear it has to do with the Rifts. They studied them in the Academy, but that was a while back - I was still in their employ, at the least. It’s the only thing I can think of that ties to my nature.”
I, too, have taken advantage of the weakness between worlds, but now I am trapped. I felt your call, but could not press through to it.
“Your web?”
Clipped.
He stroked his chin. After a moment, he stopped and looked to her in curiosity.
“Can I try something?”
Her robe billowed in the lack of wind as she lowered herself to his level.
Of course.
He reached out to place his fingertips on her mask. He hesitated for a moment before tracing his other hand below her chin to brace against what amounted to the chest of her coporeal form. He felt familiar contours but ignored their implied identity, and instead took a breath as he pulled her through the scar left by his entry into her realm. They resolved in the shrine opposite his abode, his face drenched in sweat from the effort of guiding her through the chaos between realms. Her form drifted to the statue, curiously taking in its features before she removed a duplicate of her mask from inside of itself and replaced it upon his effigy. Her form faded and crept into the statue. Razel smiled as he saw the eyes fill with an inked shadow. The darknesses of his home deepened, and he saw the sculpture begin to move once more.
That was an interesting experience.
“Can you reach your Honden?”
She was silent for a long moment, but thankfully returned without incident.
Yes.
“Good. Then at the very least you have regained a connection to my retreat.”
Your retreat and your self.
He smiled to her.
“I believe I can help you. Legitimately help.”
Likewise.
“Other ‘walkers will be feeling these effects. They will want to reverse them by any means necessary. I, however, am content to re-learn my capabilities - the only thing I lament losing is my longevity.”
The eternal mortal struggle.
“Whereas in your case, your realm was sealed - good for keeping you safe, bad for whatever your plans were with your otherworldly followers.”
What do you propose?
“I would ask you to help me stay vigorous in exchange for helping you to reconnect with what you’ve lost.”
A deal? Should I have you sign a contract in blood?
Razel cringed.
“I hate demons.”
There are those that consider me as such.
“Dealing with demons is dumb. Their entire point is to be a physical manifestation of negativity, whatever that may mean to their home. No good comes of their contracts. No, not only are you far from infernal, ours would be an agreement based on respect, not servitude.”
You presume much to ask of the Kami as an equal.
“I presume based on our history thus far. This is why I ask and do not demand; not that I would.”
That is one of the reasons I am agreeing to these terms.
He felt her reaching into him, yet saw her hands stay at her sides to click their nails. Shadows wove throughout his form and nudged his soul in all the right ways. As they withdrew, he felt a swell of stamina and a clarity of mind.
I have restored your regenerative capabilities as best I can. You are not unstoppable, but with your talents you should be able to convince others that you are. Consider it a thank-you for escorting me through the chaos.
He flexed his fingers and smiled.
“So what would you have me do for you?”
A passive responsibility - go where you please, do as you like, but watch for echoes of my substance. Seek them where you find them and bring them to my attention.
“Will I need to retrieve you?”
No. I can follow through you. Just call me and I will be there.
“What of your attacker?”
Silence held for another moment.
I am working on methods of retribution, and will make you aware as I need the help.
“I am yours to call at any time. Who was it?”
Bolas.
Razel’s eyes widened.
“The dragon? The Elder dragon?”
The same.
His head spun.
“I have heard of him in passing. His reputation certainly precedes him. Why is he after you?”
Revenge for the consequences of my actions. I seem to have established a lineage that ousted him from his throne at the time.
Razel shook his head.
“Vendettas are a draconic specialty.”
Quite.
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