Below the shining blue singularity, Damian observed his body in this endless darkness.
He was reaching out toward the incandescent point of light, his arm extended, his fingers stretched wide. His form was ghostly here, translucent in ways that flesh should not be.
He could see the outlines of his bones beneath skin that seemed made of shadow and stine. He could see the damage to his chest, the gaping wound that should have ended him, rendered in abstract darkness against his already dark form.
But his eyes were open.
And they burned with something that refused to die.
The singularity above him pulsed with warmth that he could feel in his very soul. It felt heavy, as if it contained the weight of worlds. It felt warm, as if it held the heat of every fire that had ever burned. It felt like a tool that he could use to push all the darkness away.
For a moment, he thought it was Mana.
But that did not seem to be the proper distinction for it.
Mana was the lifeblood of the Lands of Stone, yes. Mana was power, yes. But this... this felt like something that was even more ancient than that. Something that Mana itself had been born from. Something so fundamental that even the endless darkness of the void had been forced to retreat before it.
It seemed to be even more than Mana.
He could not help but reach out toward it.
His spectral arm extended further, fingers grasping for the light that promised salvation. His eyes burned with a sense of defiance that had been kindled in the ashes of a fallen empire and had never truly died. When everything seemed to be completely collapsing, when death itself had come to claim him, this light was something that he did not want to let go of.
He would not let go of it!
His fingers touched the singularity.
And he grasped it in his hand.
The moment he did, waves of incandescent blue exploded outward from the point of contact. The light washed over his spectral form like water over parched earth, illuminating everything it touched. His dark hair became visible, wild and unkempt, floating in the void as if he were submerged in an ocean of light.
His clothing, the rough-woven cloth and treated hide of a farmer, glowed with patterns that seemed almost like the Mana-snakes of Warriors, yet somehow more ancient.
His eyes opened wide.
Truly wide.
And they were no longer simply dark.
They held depths of cerulean fire that had not been there before.
The deep voice spoke again.
It was his voice, and it was not his voice. It was the voice of what he might become. The voice of what he had always been, hidden beneath the shattered foundation and the years of powerlessness.
It told him of the identity of what he grasped.
A letter.
A letter of an entirely unique language.
A Language that was called...
The Primordial Tongue.
BOOM!
The moment he learned of this name, it felt like his head had obtained information far too grand for the current him. Knowledge poured into his consciousness like a river trying to fill a cup. He saw glimpses of things that should not be seen. Heard echoes of words that had been spoken when the Lands were still soft and shapeable.
His spectral form trembled with the weight of it.
His mind screamed with the pressure of comprehension that was not meant for mortal vessels.
But he did not break, and he would not break!
He had already been broken once, and he had survived. He had been shattered, and he had continued. He had lost everything, and he was still here.
So he did the only thing he could do.
He opened his mouth, and he bellowed out in defiance against the knowledge that threatened to overwhelm him. Against the darkness that still lurked at the edges of the light. Against death itself, which had thought to claim him.
"PERSEVERE!"
BOOM!
Everything turned blue.
—
The scene was a devastating one.
But it was also a common one in the Lands of Stone.
Corpses of men and women littered the Lands like crimson flowers in a glorious stonescape of Mana. They lay where they had fallen, their blood seeping into soil that did not care who had spilled it. Some still clutched weapons they had never managed to swing. Others had died running, cut down from behind by enemies faster than any human should be.
This was the truth of the Age of Stone.
Power determined everything. And those without it became nothing more than stains on rocks that would forget them by the next rainfall.
The Butcher brought down his serrated blade and flicked the blood from its edge.
He turned away from the shredded corpse in the distance. The thin young man who had dared to kill one of his Warriors. The Lesser Thing who had forgotten his place and paid the ultimate price for it.
"Fuck!"
He could not help but spit toward the mangled body.
His hand reached up to the stone spear still piercing his shoulder, and with a grunt of effort, he plucked it out. Blood flowed freely for a moment before the Mana in his flesh began to close the wound. It would scar. It would ache for days. But he would live.
Unlike so many others here today.
He turned toward the scene of a raging Uncle Adam.
The old Warrior seemed to have gone crazed. His eyes held nothing but fury and grief, a man who had just watched the last person he cared about die. He ignored the injuries covering his own body, the cuts and gashes that would have felled a lesser man. Blood ran down his arms, but he did not seem to notice.
As The Butcher watched, Uncle Adam cut down one of his Warriors with his bare hands.
Literally.
The old soldier's fingers found the gap between the hide armor, and with strength born of absolute despair, he twisted. The crack of vertebrae separating was audible even above the chaos. The head came off the body with a wet tearing sound, and Uncle Adam cast it aside like refuse.
The Butcher's eyes narrowed.
"What?!"
His voice boomed across the bloodied center of the tribe.
"You're angry?!"
He spread his arms wide, his serrated blade catching the light.
"So am I! None of this was needed! I came here with simple demands. Simple! But no, you all had to resist. You all had to fight. And now look!"
He gestured at the corpses surrounding them.
"Now, because my people have been killed, I'm going to have to eradicate most of this tribe. Do you see what you've done? What this stupidity brings?"
His face twisted with genuine frustration.
"Man!"
...!
The light of madness and brutality pulsed around him. The tendrils of Mana beneath his skin writhed with agitation, responding to his emotional state. He was a beast barely contained in human form, and the leash was slipping.
Yet in the next moment...
...!
Gasps could be heard in the surroundings.
Many turned to look toward The Butcher's direction.
Or really... behind him!