45

Khrotempora and Khospatia move closer together. Cenit watches them, as does Sion unseen behind her, as the two gods begin to entwine their bodies. The serpentine form of Khrotempora weaves around the growing body of Khospatia, binding him in place. They lock together as the boundaries between them begin to fall away. Their essences mix together inside of themselves as the hold they have on each other grows tighter. There is a flash of light and they become one, two gods and two domains overlapped into a single entity.

The new being is far more human-like than its composite parts. The entire body is pitch black, as the sky above, a soft halo marking the form out. The being has two bald, almost expressionless heads. The two heads sprout from a single neck and meet near the center. The rest of the body is strangely proportioned. The shoulders are broad, the chest massive, but the stomach and waist as narrow as Cenit’s. The arms and legs are lanky, long enough to seem ungainly and without much volume at all. From the beings back sprout innumerable tendrils, all bound together in a writhing mass. The being stands up straight, standing far above the trees. It looks down at Cenit and begins to speak.

“You face now Khotempora, Beloved One. We are the boundless one, the beginning and end of all things, the one who stands at the end of infinity. Beloved One, your trial is to best us.”

Khotempora unfurls its tendrils and lashes out with them. Several slam down where Cenit stands. The force of the blow is enough to imprint in Sion’s body, or what exists of it, the sensation of death. Even though he knows he is in no danger in reality, the repeated strikes of the tendrils on the ground in front of him is enough to fool his body into thinking it must be dead. Sion backs away from the fight.

As he does so, he sees Cenit in the air. She had dodged in the single moment before the tentacles struck. Sion can hardly believe that she is able to fight. He knew that she fought against gods, but he hadn’t understood what that truly means until now. In her, in this child, is a power Sion could never understand, the power to slay gods.

Cenit waves her palm. Three great lances of ice grow out of frozen air. She shoots them out towards Khotempora in order. All three are blocked by a different tendril. Where the lances touch become frozen solid, the tendrils drooping under the sudden added weight. However, this does not last long. Quickly, in a few short years in the span of a single instant, the ice melts.

Khotempora thrusts with the three tendrils. As they approach, Cenit cuts across the air with the tip of a single finger. Where she cuts, the winds pick up. A blade of wind rends through the tendrils, splitting them each. However, even as they move, time reverses and they return to their proper state.

Just as the three tendrils are about to pierce through Cenit’s body, she turns herself into lightning. She bolts to the ground, then to beneath Khotempora. The tendrils chase after her, turning over themselves to reach for her. Cenit points a finger to the sky. Thunder rumbles. A storm rolls in suddenly, though it cannot be seen through the black screen surrounding the clearing. Lightning strikes, drawn to Cenit’s outstretched finger. However, Khotempora raises its own bony finger to the sky. Then there is nothing, neither light nor sound. In the area around them, the lightning and thunder, the very existence of the sky, has been erased.

Before Khotempora can crush her, Cenit slips away, turning the ground slick with water. She points at Khotempora and giant roots shoot out from the ground. Khotempora strikes out with the tendrils once more. Cenit tangles them up in the roots. The roots stiffen as they wrap around the tendrils, trapping them in place. Khotempora magnifies the roots, ripping apart the earth, and withdraws the tendrils. Cenit shoots fire with the roots as a conduit, creating a massive burst of flame. However, there is no air to burn around Khotempora.

Cenit draws her blade. As the tendrils reach her, she cuts through them, weaving between their massive forms. The metal shimmers with blue light, the sign of soul magic. Cenit cuts her way through to Khotempora. However, as she raises her sword to cut through the god, she finds herself returned to where she began her approach. She parries another tendril, but that snaps her blade. The end goes flying off, planting itself in the ground near the large roots of the central tree.

As Cenit looks at Khotempora, knowing she has no way of reaching it, she has a sudden epiphany. She teleports in front of Khotempora, floating near its chest. As she floats there, she places herself in a semi-stasis, maintaining her position for just long enough to strike.

Cenit draws a line over Khotempora with her finger.

“Unsheathe!”

A bright flash of blue light, condensed so heavily that it is barely there except for its light, bursts out. It cuts through everything: time, space, and god. Khotempora begins to come apart. Before it does so, just as trumpets announcing its defeat begin to blare, it reconstitutes itself. The world returns to normal, as does Khotempora. All that remains is the drained Cenit and her broken sword. Khotempora speaks.

“Indeed, Beloved One, you have reached the extent of humanity and defeated us. We applaud you. We shall gift to you our power, and with it a new title. We name you ‘Conqueror of Spacetime.’”

“No, I didn’t win at all. I’m still too weak…”

“We are infinity. There is no force that can bring us low. Accept the name with pride, Conqueror.” Cenit still seems to be pouting.

“Very well…”

“…I apologize for this burden, Beloved One.”

Cenit glows with golden light. Then she begins to cry. She falls to the ground, unable to control her sobs. Sion can only watch. Cenit wails, lamenting something that he is sure he cannot understand. However, the crying stops. Cenit stops moving entirely. Time is frozen, yet Sion can still move. A voice calls out to him.

“You must be the one I gave my power to.” Sion looks towards the voice. Standing there is Cenit, but an older one, close in age to him. “I’ve looked into your future, but you seemed quite different then. It seems I changed you more than I wanted to. I’m sorry.”

Sion tries to speak, but finds that he cannot. Khotempora joins the two of them.

“Beloved One, why have you come here? Time and again I have warned you of the ill effects.”

“Lord Khotempora, I don’t mean to disregard you, but the path to the future is already set. Nothing I do here will change much of anything. And I wanted to see him in person.” Khotempora looks towards Sion.

“Him?”

“He’s the one I entrusted with my power.”

“I see. I suppose he does feel something like you. I apologize, I mistook you for another. Though I should have known that that one would be too bashful still to come so near the Beloved One.” Cenit returns to her conversation with Sion.

“I suppose you must be wondering why I began to cry. You see, I just saw my own death unfold. But that’s beside the point. Don’t worry about it. What I want you to do is learn that spell. I named it Zenith of Zeniths. Build up your soul in a single point and shoot it out. It’s simple to grasp, but it might be hard to do without seeing it first.” She seems somewhat somber. “Take that power and grow stronger. Strong enough to start talking, at least. One day, when we meet again, tell me about your time, in your own words.”