VOICES: CHAPTER 9

This entire endeavor had reeked of something foul since the moment that discolored Dusk Crystal had been laid out on Charon's counter.

And the irony was, despite all the horror and the weight of Valisthea's future literally hanging over their heads, they had been feeling better about the state of things than they had in a long, long time.

They had returned from Ash knowing that any move they were to make on this 'Origin' would require information, so they began with sending out small squads of Cursebreakers to do reconnaissance. And as things were oft to do, more desperate pleas for help from their allies that could not be left to wait came calling. Once those had settled, and the intel started trickling back, and a plan started forming, there was a moment, when standing over the maps and missives in Vivian's study, long past the point when anyone but Clive, Joshua, and Jill were awake and still wracking their brains to formulate a plan of attack, the three of them looked at each other and realized that the time finally came to admit that there was a real possibility, more likely than ever before, that they might not come back. That everything that needed to be said and done, should be said and done.

It was both unnerving, but oddly comforting to take time for themselves to put their affairs in order, rather than running around at someone else's behest. To pursue that odd nagging thread that remained loose. To learn what their father, the late Archduke had planned for Rosaria's future. To visit their father's grave and earn some closure. To see Uncle Byron hip deep in negotiations, insults, and ale, all in the name of the future of Storm. To hear Jill's desire to see beyond the shores of the Twins, so long as Clive was by her side. To tell her that he could not think of a better future than that.

The threat of Ultima not withstanding, it had been almost like old times. Though instead of play-acting adventures and dramas, the three of them were taking care of the Hideaway's needs while information was amassed by their networks of allies. It brought a sense of peace and calm that had been missing in their mad rush to stop Ultima since they had been reunited in Twinside. For the first time in eighteen years…the three of them dared to be happy, even if it was just for a moment.

And that had been before they'd discovered their Eikons' new favorite past time.

It hadn't really occurred to the three Dominants that their Eikons had gone rather quiet in their interactions with them since the events on Ash. If the thought ever crossed their minds, it was quickly dismissed as something else quickly came to their attention.  And if by chance it ever lingered, Clive had assumed Ifrit was still processing and coming to terms with what they'd learned in the Rift. Jill assumed it was due to Shiva's split nature now that Clive carried a part of her. Joshua assumed Phoenix was still learning how to cope with the concept of the fear of personal loss.

None of them suspected the real reason, and truly might never have found out, if Phoenix hadn't let slip with some new and inventive curse word Joshua had never heard before, from the either the firebird or anyone else in his life. When Joshua had asked where Phoenix might have learned it, the other two Eikons suddenly became sheepishly quiet and both Jill and Clive noticed.

After an interesting night of interrogation between the Dominants and their Eikons, the elemental wardens finally caved and admitted the truth about their silence. Apparently, according to them, thanks to Ifrit's unique nature to take on aspects of other Eikons, and Phoenix's ingenuity in utilizing said aspects, the three of them had figured out a way to speak amongst themselves without involving their Dominants. And had been doing so at great length almost nonstop since the three of them got back from Ash.

It was yet another moment when despite everything, they could not hold back the genuine smiles and happiness. These were beings that for eons existed as nothing other than weapons of war or coveted vessels of power, forever isolated from anyone that wasn't their Dominant.  And thanks to the Impossible Eikon, that was suppose to be a harbinger of the End, they were instead whispering to each other like giddy noblewomen after the latest scandal.  After so much loss, so much destruction and death, such a simple, easy moment as realizing their Eikons were secretly gossiping amongst themselves and enjoying it, it made everything seem that much less impossible. That much brighter despite the days growing darker.

And then that Founder forsaken crystal had appeared in Charon's hand and the shadows started creeping back in.

The run around the 'traders' had given them did not help, certainly not with the newfound running commentary in the background of Clive, Jill and Joshua's minds.

The Eikons seemed about as thrilled at the prospect of another hidden Mothercrystal as their Dominants had been, and had been expressing their irritation at the ridiculous chase both to each other and their Dominants, but when Phoneix, Shiva, and Ifrit all went silent as they started approaching the tower, that was when it became obvious that this was about to become far worse than a few merchants dealing in rotten crystals.

Especially as the tower started waking up.

Can't you hear it? Ifrit had whispered to Clive as they ascended the tower, chasing after the manufactured Mothercrystal they'd found just past the first sentry.

Hear what? Clive had responded, his frustration with this entire situation starting to rub his nerves raw. He'd been unnerved enough learning this new Mothercrystal was real, but the insidious intentions behind it were setting his teeth on edge.

You really can't?

Clive had sighed and paused to reign in his temper. It wasn't Ifrit's fault that the Fallen were apparently as power hungry and amoral as Ultima. I hear the tower apparently becoming more and more sentient the longer we are here, if that's what you mean.

No it's not…them. There's something else here.

That had stopped Clive's thoughts in their tracks. Them?

The Fallen. Their…echoes.

They're alive? That was…unnerving.

Ifrit 'shook' his head in the aether. Alive…might be the wrong word. Aware. Awake, maybe. Whatever of them that is left in this tower is reacting to our presence. But that's not what worries me.

I fear I may regret asking what it is that does worry you about this.

Ifrit had paused, a sign that he was conversing with one of the other Eikons privately. Clive had started noticing it and couldn't help the chuckle of amusement. Now he knew how others felt when his focus would wander trying to manage the multiple conversations they weren't privy to. Phoenix says most of these voices are hollow, as if they are no longer anything but impressions left by their original owners. Ghosts. But there is one that isn't.

Where?

At the top.

Clive had sighed. Of course it is.

The rest of the climb had been, for them, pretty standard, if one ignored the enormity of learning the Fallen were manufacturing Mothercrystals, and that somehow their ghosts had infused life into the very tower they were climbing. The droning announcements from the structure even started becoming comforting, because at least it was announcing its plans loudly enough they could manage some amount of preparation before they were ambushed.

But that had been before they had reached the top.

When the noises that Ifrit had been mentioning shifted into something far more terrifying.

Words.

w̸̢̡͇̲̫͔̹̜̠͋͑͛̎̒͗͌͊͒̉̓̚͘h̴̨͕̤͍̪̝̰̲̪̼̗̲͔̗͚͑̇͘͜͝o̴̫͚͖̗̻̣̯̠̣͍͌̆̌ ̴̧̛̙͉̟̳̞̥̤͚͚̱̜̓̽̃̈́͆̓͂͋̃̉͂̏́

a̴̪̬͖͑̉͝r̸̡͙̰̘̙̘̜̬͕̄́̔̓͌͛̈́̓̂̉̍̈́̑̀͠e̷͉̮̫͎͓̺͕̘͉̒̈́̕͜͝ ̴̧̡̹̮̦̣̪͕̭̤̍̒͋̿̒͛̄͌̅̓̀͜͠͠

ỹ̵̡̛̥̤̼̫͔̭͇͚̯̫̰̰̭̞̐̑̽͌̈͗͘͝͝ǭ̸̤̙̬̹̝͈͇̜̯̜̫͓̰͈̳̬̄̒̊̀̋̕̕̕͝ų̵͈̖͉̓͂̌̀͊̈́͒̏̄̀̓̐͘

The shock of being spoken to directly was bad enough, but it was the manner in which the words had been delivered that sent the shivers of wrongness and horror up their spines. These were not words blared over some invisible bullhorn hidden in the tower's walls and ceilings, but words that drifted through the aether, not much different than how their Eikons spoke to them.

It was invasive and foul feeling, like grasping hands that fumbled clumsily as it tried to reach out.

And whatever disgusted feelings it elicited from the Dominants did that and then some to the Eikons as well.

Who are we?! Are you blind as well as dumb you vile abomination?! You grope and violate our Dominants and dare to ask who WE are?!

The fact that all three Dominants heard Shiva's shriek of indignation would be something they'd note later. At the time, they were too focused on trying to find the source of the voice, lest it prove itself the threat they suspected it was.

The 'voice' ignored Shiva, and simply asked again in that same oily feeling tone.

w̸̢̡͇̲̫͔̹̜̠͋͑͛̎̒͗͌͊͒̉̓̚͘h̴̨͕̤͍̪̝̰̲̪̼̗̲͔̗͚͑̇͘͜͝o̴̫͚͖̗̻̣̯̠̣͍͌̆̌ ̴̧̛̙͉̟̳̞̥̤͚͚̱̜̓̽̃̈́͆̓͂͋̃̉͂̏́

a̴̪̬͖͑̉͝r̸̡͙̰̘̙̘̜̬͕̄́̔̓͌͛̈́̓̂̉̍̈́̑̀͠e̷͉̮̫͎͓̺͕̘͉̒̈́̕͜͝ ̴̧̡̹̮̦̣̪͕̭̤̍̒͋̿̒͛̄͌̅̓̀͜͠͠

ỹ̵̡̛̥̤̼̫͔̭͇͚̯̫̰̰̭̞̐̑̽͌̈͗͘͝͝ǭ̸̤̙̬̹̝͈͇̜̯̜̫͓̰͈̳̬̄̒̊̀̋̕̕̕͝ų̵͈̖͉̓͂̌̀͊̈́͒̏̄̀̓̐͘

What is…what's wrong with it?  Phoneix's voice this time, confusion quickly starting to morph into concern and horror when she seemed to realize something about the voice's owner.

w̷̨̡͈͙̬̗̃͋h̸͕̫͇͓̥̲̹̼͙̲̖̪͓̮̦̟̭̊̑̑̍̓̍͝͝a̵͍̎͆̃̊̾̈́̕̚ţ̵̱̭͓̺̜̪̰̘̖͎͓͍̦̈́͜ ̸̡̢̡̬̠̤̼̣͎̳̣̙̫̞̫͈͈͒̽͗̽̐̄͒͆͂͒͝

a̷̢͖̠̗̘͔̣̟͈̤̔͜ͅr̵̦̝̀͆̅̏͛͗̈ê̸̡̲̹ ̶̨̨͚̰͔̪̙͍̖̟͙͈̰̻͆̀̅̕͘

y̴̱͓̱̬͇͓͚̋̏̀̀̇͋́̅͘o̷̢̨̢̡͍̥͇̟̹̺͚̩̦̙͖͝ư̸̥̜̝̙̼͐̓́̌̈̽̉̆̚͝͝

It…it's one of us, Ifrit. Of course, it was Ifrit who noticed and said what the others were thinking but were too afraid to speak aloud. An Eikon. What…did they do to it?

w̸̨̺̰̪̲̘̭̺͖͎͕͂̽̈́̇̀͒̊̊͂́̑͠h̷̢̛̼̱̤̣̩̦̫̗͚̑̔̏̅͑̽̋̂̕͠͝a̵̹͍͓͖̩̘̥̣͔͔̰̗̋̑̀̔̿̉̏̄̒̈͛̃͆̍t̸̡̞̜̍͊̈́̏̈͐́̇͝͠͝ ̵̡̣̰̣̳͓̟̜̖̞̗̰͔̽̐̐͆̌̈́͘̕͝ą̵̰̰̦̯̟̫̲̦̤̈̅̀̐͋̂̑͂̽̿̾͊̊̄̈́͜m̷̡̨̢͎̲̩͉̳̼̳̤̣̲̲̀̈́̊͗̒̀͂̇̽͒̍̄̿̆̕̚͠ ̶͉͍̥̻̞̬͔̳̤̲̒͐̀ḭ̵̡̛̲͚̟̰̳̝̖̺̩͑̌͂͝

What are...we're Eikons.  Aren't you?  Phoneix's words were broken when the reality seemed to sink in, as she desperately tried one last time to get through to the mangled voice.

ȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅ?̴̛͓̭͕̹̘̲̍̋̈́͊̊́̈́̏̎̅̕ ȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅ ȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅ?̴̛͓̭͕̹̘̲̍̋̈́͊̊́̈́̏̎̅̕ ȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅ?̴̛͓̭͕̹̘̲̍̋̈́͊̊́̈́̏̎̅̕ȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅ?̴̛͓̭͕̹̘̲̍̋̈́͊̊́̈́̏̎̅̕ȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅ?̴̛͓̭͕̹̘̲̍̋̈́͊̊́̈́̏̎̅̕ȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅ?̴̛͓̭͕̹̘̲̍̋̈́͊̊́̈́̏̎̅̕ȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅ?̴̛͓̭͕̹̘̲̍̋̈́͊̊́̈́̏̎̅̕ȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅ?̴̛͓̭͕̹̘̲̍̋̈́͊̊́̈́̏̎̅̕ȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅ?̴̛͓̭͕̹̘̲̍̋̈́͊̊́̈́̏̎̅̕ȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅ?̴̛͓̭͕̹̘̲̍̋̈́͊̊́̈́̏̎̅̕ȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅ?̴̛͓̭͕̹̘̲̍̋̈́͊̊́̈́̏̎̅̕ȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅ?̴̛͓̭͕̹̘̲̍̋̈́͊̊́̈́̏̎̅̕ȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅ?̴̛͓̭͕̹̘̲̍̋̈́͊̊́̈́̏̎̅̕ȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅ?̴̛͓̭͕̹̘̲̍̋̈́͊̊́̈́̏̎̅̕ȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅ?̴̛͓̭͕̹̘̲̍̋̈́͊̊́̈́̏̎̅̕ȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅ?̴̛͓̭͕̹̘̲̍̋̈́͊̊́̈́̏̎̅̕ȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅ?̴̛͓̭͕̹̘̲̍̋̈́͊̊́̈́̏̎̅̕ȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅ?̴̛͓̭͕̹̘̲̍̋̈́͊̊́̈́̏̎̅̕ȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅ?̴̛͓̭͕̹̘̲̍̋̈́͊̊́̈́̏̎̅̕ȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅ?̴̛͓̭͕̹̘̲̍̋̈́͊̊́̈́̏̎̅̕ȩ̵̘̱͍̉̽̾̒͐̋̃̿̀̚͠i̶̦̹̒̾̔̾͘̚͜k̵̡̡̦͈͔̟̭͚̪̺͑̈́́̾͒̽̽̾̀̋̇͒͐̚̚ǫ̸̢̠̝͓̹̣̞̟̫̖͎̼̙̪̬͆͘͜n̶̻̹̞̰̤͍̎̔̋͋̃̄̂̿̉̌̽̇̈ͅ?̴̛͓̭͕̹̘̲̍̋̈́͊̊́̈́̏̎̅̕

?̴̛͓̭͕̹̘̲̍̋̈́͊̊́̈́̏̎̅̕

It is a monster! Ifrit snarled as the assault on all their senses ramped up.

It cannot be one of us! Shiva's echoing roar agreed, struggling to be heard against the cacophony.

"They made a Mothercrystal," Joshua interjected aloud, so he was sure all the Eikons heard, even as the onslaught of noise threatened to split his skull. "It stands to reason they would attempt to make an Eikon next."

"With just as much success, it would seem," Jill added bitterly.

Clive didn't even manage to grunt out an agreement before the all too familiar bolt of pain through his skull had him doubled over and hissing through gritted teeth.  The warped voice seemed to just permeate everything with its defiled presence, infusing every sense they had with the mangled words.

But the moment Joshua had said 'Mothercrystal', the pressure increased tenfold.

y̴̹̥̬͔̘͕̥̥͑͗̎͌̂̽̀̾̋̕ͅỡ̷̜̲̰͉̬̯̰̼̯̭̝͕̖̜̌̏̓̎̀̄͆̉͜u̶͙͈̤̗͔͙̪̥͆̈́̔̽͒͒͂́̽̀͒͒̕ ̴̩̮̻̤̝̙̤̺̗̣̬̬͎̤͖̳̄́̾͑̍͊̐̔̈̾͗̓̈̃̕ç̶̢̧̙͓̜̖͇̰͍̬̘̪͛̏̅͗͋͛͒͑ͅa̷̡̨̤̦̮̙͙͉̬̱͚̮͙̰̫͇͋̽͆̿͑͊̈́̌̿ͅn̶̖̲͕͔̝͔̗̳̝̳̺͉̂̈́͗͒̔͋̚͝'̶̧͚̯̺̬̟͉͖̰̝̖͚̅̿̎̾͛͑̈́͑̈́̚͜͜ͅt̶̡͇̺̭͙̯̦̠̻̘̻̖͌̀̄̾̅̎ ̴̨͉̦̬͕͓̠̋́̾̿̈́͐̏̔̔̊̚͘͘͜ͅȟ̶̨̫͔͚̪a̸̛͍̦͒̈́̐̽̅͘v̷̛̱͖͕̒͐̒̂̎̾́́͛̉̀͑̓̂͘͝é̴̢͕̺̳̥̬͙͉̊̇̌͋͆̔̒̈́̃̒̆̋̂͂ ̶͙͚̤̞͖̠̣̬͇̠̐̈̌̍̓́̈͐͝ỉ̵̢̢̡̪͔̬̞͇̥̌́̂͜t̷̡̞̣͕̂̔̾̐̈̾̇̄͑̒̕̕͜͜ y̴̹̥̬͔̘͕̥̥͑͗̎͌̂̽̀̾̋̕ͅỡ̷̜̲̰͉̬̯̰̼̯̭̝͕̖̜̌̏̓̎̀̄͆̉͜u̶͙͈̤̗͔͙̪̥͆̈́̔̽͒͒͂́̽̀͒͒̕ ̴̩̮̻̤̝̙̤̺̗̣̬̬͎̤͖̳̄́̾͑̍͊̐̔̈̾͗̓̈̃̕ç̶̢̧̙͓̜̖͇̰͍̬̘̪͛̏̅͗͋͛͒͑ͅa̷̡̨̤̦̮̙͙͉̬̱͚̮͙̰̫͇͋̽͆̿͑͊̈́̌̿ͅn̶̖̲͕͔̝͔̗̳̝̳̺͉̂̈́͗͒̔͋̚͝'̶̧͚̯̺̬̟͉͖̰̝̖͚̅̿̎̾͛͑̈́͑̈́̚͜͜ͅt̶̡͇̺̭͙̯̦̠̻̘̻̖͌̀̄̾̅̎ ̴̨͉̦̬͕͓̠̋́̾̿̈́͐̏̔̔̊̚͘͘͜ͅȟ̶̨̫͔͚̪a̸̛͍̦͒̈́̐̽̅͘v̷̛̱͖͕̒͐̒̂̎̾́́͛̉̀͑̓̂͘͝é̴̢͕̺̳̥̬͙͉̊̇̌͋͆̔̒̈́̃̒̆̋̂͂ ̶͙͚̤̞͖̠̣̬͇̠̐̈̌̍̓́̈͐͝ỉ̵̢̢̡̪͔̬̞͇̥̌́̂͜t̷̡̞̣͕̂̔̾̐̈̾̇̄͑̒̕̕͜͜ y̴̹̥̬͔̘͕̥̥͑͗̎͌̂̽̀̾̋̕ͅỡ̷̜̲̰͉̬̯̰̼̯̭̝͕̖̜̌̏̓̎̀̄͆̉͜u̶͙͈̤̗͔͙̪̥͆̈́̔̽͒͒͂́̽̀͒͒̕ ̴̩̮̻̤̝̙̤̺̗̣̬̬͎̤͖̳̄́̾͑̍͊̐̔̈̾͗̓̈̃̕ç̶̢̧̙͓̜̖͇̰͍̬̘̪͛̏̅͗͋͛͒͑ͅa̷̡̨̤̦̮̙͙͉̬̱͚̮͙̰̫͇͋̽͆̿͑͊̈́̌̿ͅn̶̖̲͕͔̝͔̗̳̝̳̺͉̂̈́͗͒̔͋̚͝'̶̧͚̯̺̬̟͉͖̰̝̖͚̅̿̎̾͛͑̈́͑̈́̚͜͜ͅt̶̡͇̺̭͙̯̦̠̻̘̻̖͌̀̄̾̅̎ ̴̨͉̦̬͕͓̠̋́̾̿̈́͐̏̔̔̊̚͘͘͜ͅȟ̶̨̫͔͚̪a̸̛͍̦͒̈́̐̽̅͘v̷̛̱͖͕̒͐̒̂̎̾́́͛̉̀͑̓̂͘͝é̴̢͕̺̳̥̬͙͉̊̇̌͋͆̔̒̈́̃̒̆̋̂͂ ̶͙͚̤̞͖̠̣̬͇̠̐̈̌̍̓́̈͐͝ỉ̵̢̢̡̪͔̬̞͇̥̌́̂͜t̷̡̞̣͕̂̔̾̐̈̾̇̄͑̒̕̕͜͜ y̴̹̥̬͔̘͕̥̥͑͗̎͌̂̽̀̾̋̕ͅỡ̷̜̲̰͉̬̯̰̼̯̭̝͕̖̜̌̏̓̎̀̄͆̉͜u̶͙͈̤̗͔͙̪̥͆̈́̔̽͒͒͂́̽̀͒͒̕ ̴̩̮̻̤̝̙̤̺̗̣̬̬͎̤͖̳̄́̾͑̍͊̐̔̈̾͗̓̈̃̕ç̶̢̧̙͓̜̖͇̰͍̬̘̪͛̏̅͗͋͛͒͑ͅa̷̡̨̤̦̮̙͙͉̬̱͚̮͙̰̫͇͋̽͆̿͑͊̈́̌̿ͅn̶̖̲͕͔̝͔̗̳̝̳̺͉̂̈́͗͒̔͋̚͝'̶̧͚̯̺̬̟͉͖̰̝̖͚̅̿̎̾͛͑̈́͑̈́̚͜͜ͅt̶̡͇̺̭͙̯̦̠̻̘̻̖͌̀̄̾̅̎ ̴̨͉̦̬͕͓̠̋́̾̿̈́͐̏̔̔̊̚͘͘͜ͅȟ̶̨̫͔͚̪a̸̛͍̦͒̈́̐̽̅͘v̷̛̱͖͕̒͐̒̂̎̾́́͛̉̀͑̓̂͘͝é̴̢͕̺̳̥̬͙͉̊̇̌͋͆̔̒̈́̃̒̆̋̂͂ ̶͙͚̤̞͖̠̣̬͇̠̐̈̌̍̓́̈͐͝ỉ̵̢̢̡̪͔̬̞͇̥̌́̂͜t̷̡̞̣͕̂̔̾̐̈̾̇̄͑̒̕̕͜͜ y̴̹̥̬͔̘͕̥̥͑͗̎͌̂̽̀̾̋̕ͅỡ̷̜̲̰͉̬̯̰̼̯̭̝͕̖̜̌̏̓̎̀̄͆̉͜u̶͙͈̤̗͔͙̪̥͆̈́̔̽͒͒͂́̽̀͒͒̕ ̴̩̮̻̤̝̙̤̺̗̣̬̬͎̤͖̳̄́̾͑̍͊̐̔̈̾͗̓̈̃̕ç̶̢̧̙͓̜̖͇̰͍̬̘̪͛̏̅͗͋͛͒͑ͅa̷̡̨̤̦̮̙͙͉̬̱͚̮͙̰̫͇͋̽͆̿͑͊̈́̌̿ͅn̶̖̲͕͔̝͔̗̳̝̳̺͉̂̈́͗͒̔͋̚͝'̶̧͚̯̺̬̟͉͖̰̝̖͚̅̿̎̾͛͑̈́͑̈́̚͜͜ͅt̶̡͇̺̭͙̯̦̠̻̘̻̖͌̀̄̾̅̎ ̴̨͉̦̬͕͓̠̋́̾̿̈́͐̏̔̔̊̚͘͘͜ͅȟ̶̨̫͔͚̪a̸̛͍̦͒̈́̐̽̅͘v̷̛̱͖͕̒͐̒̂̎̾́́͛̉̀͑̓̂͘͝é̴̢͕̺̳̥̬͙͉̊̇̌͋͆̔̒̈́̃̒̆̋̂͂ ̶͙͚̤̞͖̠̣̬͇̠̐̈̌̍̓́̈͐͝ỉ̵̢̢̡̪͔̬̞͇̥̌́̂͜t̷̡̞̣͕̂̔̾̐̈̾̇̄͑̒̕̕͜͜ y̴̹̥̬͔̘͕̥̥͑͗̎͌̂̽̀̾̋̕ͅỡ̷̜̲̰͉̬̯̰̼̯̭̝͕̖̜̌̏̓̎̀̄͆̉͜u̶͙͈̤̗͔͙̪̥͆̈́̔̽͒͒͂́̽̀͒͒̕ ̴̩̮̻̤̝̙̤̺̗̣̬̬͎̤͖̳̄́̾͑̍͊̐̔̈̾͗̓̈̃̕ç̶̢̧̙͓̜̖͇̰͍̬̘̪͛̏̅͗͋͛͒͑ͅa̷̡̨̤̦̮̙͙͉̬̱͚̮͙̰̫͇͋̽͆̿͑͊̈́̌̿ͅn̶̖̲͕͔̝͔̗̳̝̳̺͉̂̈́͗͒̔͋̚͝'̶̧͚̯̺̬̟͉͖̰̝̖͚̅̿̎̾͛͑̈́͑̈́̚͜͜ͅt̶̡͇̺̭͙̯̦̠̻̘̻̖͌̀̄̾̅̎ ̴̨͉̦̬͕͓̠̋́̾̿̈́͐̏̔̔̊̚͘͘͜ͅȟ̶̨̫͔͚̪a̸̛͍̦͒̈́̐̽̅͘v̷̛̱͖͕̒͐̒̂̎̾́́͛̉̀͑̓̂͘͝é̴̢͕̺̳̥̬͙͉̊̇̌͋͆̔̒̈́̃̒̆̋̂͂ ̶͙͚̤̞͖̠̣̬͇̠̐̈̌̍̓́̈͐͝ỉ̵̢̢̡̪͔̬̞͇̥̌́̂͜t̷̡̞̣͕̂̔̾̐̈̾̇̄͑̒̕̕͜͜ y̴̹̥̬͔̘͕̥̥͑͗̎͌̂̽̀̾̋̕ͅỡ̷̜̲̰͉̬̯̰̼̯̭̝͕̖̜̌̏̓̎̀̄͆̉͜u̶͙͈̤̗͔͙̪̥͆̈́̔̽͒͒͂́̽̀͒͒̕ ̴̩̮̻̤̝̙̤̺̗̣̬̬͎̤͖̳̄́̾͑̍͊̐̔̈̾͗̓̈̃̕ç̶̢̧̙͓̜̖͇̰͍̬̘̪͛̏̅͗͋͛͒͑ͅa̷̡̨̤̦̮̙͙͉̬̱͚̮͙̰̫͇͋̽͆̿͑͊̈́̌̿ͅn̶̖̲͕͔̝͔̗̳̝̳̺͉̂̈́͗͒̔͋̚͝'̶̧͚̯̺̬̟͉͖̰̝̖͚̅̿̎̾͛͑̈́͑̈́̚͜͜ͅt̶̡͇̺̭͙̯̦̠̻̘̻̖͌̀̄̾̅̎ ̴̨͉̦̬͕͓̠̋́̾̿̈́͐̏̔̔̊̚͘͘͜ͅȟ̶̨̫͔͚̪a̸̛͍̦͒̈́̐̽̅͘v̷̛̱͖͕̒͐̒̂̎̾́́͛̉̀͑̓̂͘͝é̴̢͕̺̳̥̬͙͉̊̇̌͋͆̔̒̈́̃̒̆̋̂͂ ̶͙͚̤̞͖̠̣̬͇̠̐̈̌̍̓́̈͐͝ỉ̵̢̢̡̪͔̬̞͇̥̌́̂͜t̷̡̞̣͕̂̔̾̐̈̾̇̄͑̒̕̕͜͜ y̴̹̥̬͔̘͕̥̥͑͗̎͌̂̽̀̾̋̕ͅỡ̷̜̲̰͉̬̯̰̼̯̭̝͕̖̜̌̏̓̎̀̄͆̉͜u̶͙͈̤̗͔͙̪̥͆̈́̔̽͒͒͂́̽̀͒͒̕ ̴̩̮̻̤̝̙̤̺̗̣̬̬͎̤͖̳̄́̾͑̍͊̐̔̈̾͗̓̈̃̕ç̶̢̧̙͓̜̖͇̰͍̬̘̪͛̏̅͗͋͛͒͑ͅa̷̡̨̤̦̮̙͙͉̬̱͚̮͙̰̫͇͋̽͆̿͑͊̈́̌̿ͅn̶̖̲͕͔̝͔̗̳̝̳̺͉̂̈́͗͒̔͋̚͝'̶̧͚̯̺̬̟͉͖̰̝̖͚̅̿̎̾͛͑̈́͑̈́̚͜͜ͅt̶̡͇̺̭͙̯̦̠̻̘̻̖͌̀̄̾̅̎ ̴̨͉̦̬͕͓̠̋́̾̿̈́͐̏̔̔̊̚͘͘͜ͅȟ̶̨̫͔͚̪a̸̛͍̦͒̈́̐̽̅͘v̷̛̱͖͕̒͐̒̂̎̾́́͛̉̀͑̓̂͘͝é̴̢͕̺̳̥̬͙͉̊̇̌͋͆̔̒̈́̃̒̆̋̂͂ ̶͙͚̤̞͖̠̣̬͇̠̐̈̌̍̓́̈͐͝ỉ̵̢̢̡̪͔̬̞͇̥̌́̂͜t̷̡̞̣͕̂̔̾̐̈̾̇̄͑̒̕̕͜͜ y̴̹̥̬͔̘͕̥̥͑͗̎͌̂̽̀̾̋̕ͅỡ̷̜̲̰͉̬̯̰̼̯̭̝͕̖̜̌̏̓̎̀̄͆̉͜u̶͙͈̤̗͔͙̪̥͆̈́̔̽͒͒͂́̽̀͒͒̕ ̴̩̮̻̤̝̙̤̺̗̣̬̬͎̤͖̳̄́̾͑̍͊̐̔̈̾͗̓̈̃̕ç̶̢̧̙͓̜̖͇̰͍̬̘̪͛̏̅͗͋͛͒͑ͅa̷̡̨̤̦̮̙͙͉̬̱͚̮͙̰̫͇͋̽͆̿͑͊̈́̌̿ͅn̶̖̲͕͔̝͔̗̳̝̳̺͉̂̈́͗͒̔͋̚͝'̶̧͚̯̺̬̟͉͖̰̝̖͚̅̿̎̾͛͑̈́͑̈́̚͜͜ͅt̶̡͇̺̭͙̯̦̠̻̘̻̖͌̀̄̾̅̎ ̴̨͉̦̬͕͓̠̋́̾̿̈́͐̏̔̔̊̚͘͘͜ͅȟ̶̨̫͔͚̪a̸̛͍̦͒̈́̐̽̅͘v̷̛̱͖͕̒͐̒̂̎̾́́͛̉̀͑̓̂͘͝é̴̢͕̺̳̥̬͙͉̊̇̌͋͆̔̒̈́̃̒̆̋̂͂ ̶͙͚̤̞͖̠̣̬͇̠̐̈̌̍̓́̈͐͝ỉ̵̢̢̡̪͔̬̞͇̥̌́̂͜t̷̡̞̣͕̂̔̾̐̈̾̇̄͑̒̕̕͜͜ y̴̹̥̬͔̘͕̥̥͑͗̎͌̂̽̀̾̋̕ͅỡ̷̜̲̰͉̬̯̰̼̯̭̝͕̖̜̌̏̓̎̀̄͆̉͜u̶͙͈̤̗͔͙̪̥͆̈́̔̽͒͒͂́̽̀͒͒̕ ̴̩̮̻̤̝̙̤̺̗̣̬̬͎̤͖̳̄́̾͑̍͊̐̔̈̾͗̓̈̃̕ç̶̢̧̙͓̜̖͇̰͍̬̘̪͛̏̅͗͋͛͒͑ͅa̷̡̨̤̦̮̙͙͉̬̱͚̮͙̰̫͇͋̽͆̿͑͊̈́̌̿ͅn̶̖̲͕͔̝͔̗̳̝̳̺͉̂̈́͗͒̔͋̚͝'̶̧͚̯̺̬̟͉͖̰̝̖͚̅̿̎̾͛͑̈́͑̈́̚͜͜ͅt̶̡͇̺̭͙̯̦̠̻̘̻̖͌̀̄̾̅̎ ̴̨͉̦̬͕͓̠̋́̾̿̈́͐̏̔̔̊̚͘͘͜ͅȟ̶̨̫͔͚̪a̸̛͍̦͒̈́̐̽̅͘v̷̛̱͖͕̒͐̒̂̎̾́́͛̉̀͑̓̂͘͝é̴̢͕̺̳̥̬͙͉̊̇̌͋͆̔̒̈́̃̒̆̋̂͂ ̶͙͚̤̞͖̠̣̬͇̠̐̈̌̍̓́̈͐͝ỉ̵̢̢̡̪͔̬̞͇̥̌́̂͜t̷̡̞̣͕̂̔̾̐̈̾̇̄͑̒̕̕͜͜ y̴̹̥̬͔̘͕̥̥͑͗̎͌̂̽̀̾̋̕ͅỡ̷̜̲̰͉̬̯̰̼̯̭̝͕̖̜̌̏̓̎̀̄͆̉͜u̶͙͈̤̗͔͙̪̥͆̈́̔̽͒͒͂́̽̀͒͒̕ ̴̩̮̻̤̝̙̤̺̗̣̬̬͎̤͖̳̄́̾͑̍͊̐̔̈̾͗̓̈̃̕ç̶̢̧̙͓̜̖͇̰͍̬̘̪͛̏̅͗͋͛͒͑ͅa̷̡̨̤̦̮̙͙͉̬̱͚̮͙̰̫͇͋̽͆̿͑͊̈́̌̿ͅn̶̖̲͕͔̝͔̗̳̝̳̺͉̂̈́͗͒̔͋̚͝'̶̧͚̯̺̬̟͉͖̰̝̖͚̅̿̎̾͛͑̈́͑̈́̚͜͜ͅt̶̡͇̺̭͙̯̦̠̻̘̻̖͌̀̄̾̅̎ ̴̨͉̦̬͕͓̠̋́̾̿̈́͐̏̔̔̊̚͘͘͜ͅȟ̶̨̫͔͚̪a̸̛͍̦͒̈́̐̽̅͘v̷̛̱͖͕̒͐̒̂̎̾́́͛̉̀͑̓̂͘͝é̴̢͕̺̳̥̬͙͉̊̇̌͋͆̔̒̈́̃̒̆̋̂͂ ̶͙͚̤̞͖̠̣̬͇̠̐̈̌̍̓́̈͐͝ỉ̵̢̢̡̪͔̬̞͇̥̌́̂͜t̷̡̞̣͕̂̔̾̐̈̾̇̄͑̒̕̕͜͜

y̴̹̥̬͔̘͕̥̥͑͗̎͌̂̽̀̾̋̕ͅỡ̷̜̲̰͉̬̯̰̼̯̭̝͕̖̜̌̏̓̎̀̄͆̉͜u̶͙͈̤̗͔͙̪̥͆̈́̔̽͒͒͂́̽̀͒͒̕ ̴̩̮̻̤̝̙̤̺̗̣̬̬͎̤͖̳̄́̾͑̍͊̐̔̈̾͗̓̈̃̕ç̶̢̧̙͓̜̖͇̰͍̬̘̪͛̏̅͗͋͛͒͑ͅa̷̡̨̤̦̮̙͙͉̬̱͚̮͙̰̫͇͋̽͆̿͑͊̈́̌̿ͅn̶̖̲͕͔̝͔̗̳̝̳̺͉̂̈́͗͒̔͋̚͝'̶̧͚̯̺̬̟͉͖̰̝̖͚̅̿̎̾͛͑̈́͑̈́̚͜͜ͅt̶̡͇̺̭͙̯̦̠̻̘̻̖͌̀̄̾̅̎ ̴̨͉̦̬͕͓̠̋́̾̿̈́͐̏̔̔̊̚͘͘͜ͅȟ̶̨̫͔͚̪a̸̛͍̦͒̈́̐̽̅͘v̷̛̱͖͕̒͐̒̂̎̾́́͛̉̀͑̓̂͘͝é̴̢͕̺̳̥̬͙͉̊̇̌͋͆̔̒̈́̃̒̆̋̂͂ ̶͙͚̤̞͖̠̣̬͇̠̐̈̌̍̓́̈͐͝ỉ̵̢̢̡̪͔̬̞͇̥̌́̂͜t̷̡̞̣͕̂̔̾̐̈̾̇̄͑̒̕̕͜͜ y̴̹̥̬͔̘͕̥̥͑͗̎͌̂̽̀̾̋̕ͅỡ̷̜̲̰͉̬̯̰̼̯̭̝͕̖̜̌̏̓̎̀̄͆̉͜u̶͙͈̤̗͔͙̪̥͆̈́̔̽͒͒͂́̽̀͒͒̕ ̴̩̮̻̤̝̙̤̺̗̣̬̬͎̤͖̳̄́̾͑̍͊̐̔̈̾͗̓̈̃̕ç̶̢̧̙͓̜̖͇̰͍̬̘̪͛̏̅͗͋͛͒͑ͅa̷̡̨̤̦̮̙͙͉̬̱͚̮͙̰̫͇͋̽͆̿͑͊̈́̌̿ͅn̶̖̲͕͔̝͔̗̳̝̳̺͉̂̈́͗͒̔͋̚͝'̶̧͚̯̺̬̟͉͖̰̝̖͚̅̿̎̾͛͑̈́͑̈́̚͜͜ͅt̶̡͇̺̭͙̯̦̠̻̘̻̖͌̀̄̾̅̎ ̴̨͉̦̬͕͓̠̋́̾̿̈́͐̏̔̔̊̚͘͘͜ͅȟ̶̨̫͔͚̪a̸̛͍̦͒̈́̐̽̅͘v̷̛̱͖͕̒͐̒̂̎̾́́͛̉̀͑̓̂͘͝é̴̢͕̺̳̥̬͙͉̊̇̌͋͆̔̒̈́̃̒̆̋̂͂ ̶͙͚̤̞͖̠̣̬͇̠̐̈̌̍̓́̈͐͝ỉ̵̢̢̡̪͔̬̞͇̥̌́̂͜t̷̡̞̣͕̂̔̾̐̈̾̇̄͑̒̕̕͜͜ y̴̹̥̬͔̘͕̥̥͑͗̎͌̂̽̀̾̋̕ͅỡ̷̜̲̰͉̬̯̰̼̯̭̝͕̖̜̌̏̓̎̀̄͆̉͜u̶͙͈̤̗͔͙̪̥͆̈́̔̽͒͒͂́̽̀͒͒̕ ̴̩̮̻̤̝̙̤̺̗̣̬̬͎̤͖̳̄́̾͑̍͊̐̔̈̾͗̓̈̃̕ç̶̢̧̙͓̜̖͇̰͍̬̘̪͛̏̅͗͋͛͒͑ͅa̷̡̨̤̦̮̙͙͉̬̱͚̮͙̰̫͇͋̽͆̿͑͊̈́̌̿ͅn̶̖̲͕͔̝͔̗̳̝̳̺͉̂̈́͗͒̔͋̚͝'̶̧͚̯̺̬̟͉͖̰̝̖͚̅̿̎̾͛͑̈́͑̈́̚͜͜ͅt̶̡͇̺̭͙̯̦̠̻̘̻̖͌̀̄̾̅̎ ̴̨͉̦̬͕͓̠̋́̾̿̈́͐̏̔̔̊̚͘͘͜ͅȟ̶̨̫͔͚̪a̸̛͍̦͒̈́̐̽̅͘v̷̛̱͖͕̒͐̒̂̎̾́́͛̉̀͑̓̂͘͝é̴̢͕̺̳̥̬͙͉̊̇̌͋͆̔̒̈́̃̒̆̋̂͂ ̶͙͚̤̞͖̠̣̬͇̠̐̈̌̍̓́̈͐͝ỉ̵̢̢̡̪͔̬̞͇̥̌́̂͜t̷̡̞̣͕̂̔̾̐̈̾̇̄͑̒̕̕͜͜ y̴̹̥̬͔̘͕̥̥͑͗̎͌̂̽̀̾̋̕ͅỡ̷̜̲̰͉̬̯̰̼̯̭̝͕̖̜̌̏̓̎̀̄͆̉͜u̶͙͈̤̗͔͙̪̥͆̈́̔̽͒͒͂́̽̀͒͒̕ ̴̩̮̻̤̝̙̤̺̗̣̬̬͎̤͖̳̄́̾͑̍͊̐̔̈̾͗̓̈̃̕ç̶̢̧̙͓̜̖͇̰͍̬̘̪͛̏̅͗͋͛͒͑ͅa̷̡̨̤̦̮̙͙͉̬̱͚̮͙̰̫͇͋̽͆̿͑͊̈́̌̿ͅn̶̖̲͕͔̝͔̗̳̝̳̺͉̂̈́͗͒̔͋̚͝'̶̧͚̯̺̬̟͉͖̰̝̖͚̅̿̎̾͛͑̈́͑̈́̚͜͜ͅt̶̡͇̺̭͙̯̦̠̻̘̻̖͌̀̄̾̅̎ ̴̨͉̦̬͕͓̠̋́̾̿̈́͐̏̔̔̊̚͘͘͜ͅȟ̶̨̫͔͚̪a̸̛͍̦͒̈́̐̽̅͘v̷̛̱͖͕̒͐̒̂̎̾́́͛̉̀͑̓̂͘͝é̴̢͕̺̳̥̬͙͉̊̇̌͋͆̔̒̈́̃̒̆̋̂͂ ̶͙͚̤̞͖̠̣̬͇̠̐̈̌̍̓́̈͐͝ỉ̵̢̢̡̪͔̬̞͇̥̌́̂͜t̷̡̞̣͕̂̔̾̐̈̾̇̄͑̒̕̕͜͜ y̴̹̥̬͔̘͕̥̥͑͗̎͌̂̽̀̾̋̕ͅỡ̷̜̲̰͉̬̯̰̼̯̭̝͕̖̜̌̏̓̎̀̄͆̉͜u̶͙͈̤̗͔͙̪̥͆̈́̔̽͒͒͂́̽̀͒͒̕ ̴̩̮̻̤̝̙̤̺̗̣̬̬͎̤͖̳̄́̾͑̍͊̐̔̈̾͗̓̈̃̕ç̶̢̧̙͓̜̖͇̰͍̬̘̪͛̏̅͗͋͛͒͑ͅa̷̡̨̤̦̮̙͙͉̬̱͚̮͙̰̫͇͋̽͆̿͑͊̈́̌̿ͅn̶̖̲͕͔̝͔̗̳̝̳̺͉̂̈́͗͒̔͋̚͝'̶̧͚̯̺̬̟͉͖̰̝̖͚̅̿̎̾͛͑̈́͑̈́̚͜͜ͅt̶̡͇̺̭͙̯̦̠̻̘̻̖͌̀̄̾̅̎ ̴̨͉̦̬͕͓̠̋́̾̿̈́͐̏̔̔̊̚͘͘͜ͅȟ̶̨̫͔͚̪a̸̛͍̦͒̈́̐̽̅͘v̷̛̱͖͕̒͐̒̂̎̾́́͛̉̀͑̓̂͘͝é̴̢͕̺̳̥̬͙͉̊̇̌͋͆̔̒̈́̃̒̆̋̂͂ ̶͙͚̤̞͖̠̣̬͇̠̐̈̌̍̓́̈͐͝ỉ̵̢̢̡̪͔̬̞͇̥̌́̂͜t̷̡̞̣͕̂̔̾̐̈̾̇̄͑̒̕̕͜͜ y̴̹̥̬͔̘͕̥̥͑͗̎͌̂̽̀̾̋̕ͅỡ̷̜̲̰͉̬̯̰̼̯̭̝͕̖̜̌̏̓̎̀̄͆̉͜u̶͙͈̤̗͔͙̪̥͆̈́̔̽͒͒͂́̽̀͒͒̕ ̴̩̮̻̤̝̙̤̺̗̣̬̬͎̤͖̳̄́̾͑̍͊̐̔̈̾͗̓̈̃̕ç̶̢̧̙͓̜̖͇̰͍̬̘̪͛̏̅͗͋͛͒͑ͅa̷̡̨̤̦̮̙͙͉̬̱͚̮͙̰̫͇͋̽͆̿͑͊̈́̌̿ͅn̶̖̲͕͔̝͔̗̳̝̳̺͉̂̈́͗͒̔͋̚͝'̶̧͚̯̺̬̟͉͖̰̝̖͚̅̿̎̾͛͑̈́͑̈́̚͜͜ͅt̶̡͇̺̭͙̯̦̠̻̘̻̖͌̀̄̾̅̎ ̴̨͉̦̬͕͓̠̋́̾̿̈́͐̏̔̔̊̚͘͘͜ͅȟ̶̨̫͔͚̪a̸̛͍̦͒̈́̐̽̅͘v̷̛̱͖͕̒͐̒̂̎̾́́͛̉̀͑̓̂͘͝é̴̢͕̺̳̥̬͙͉̊̇̌͋͆̔̒̈́̃̒̆̋̂͂ ̶͙͚̤̞͖̠̣̬͇̠̐̈̌̍̓́̈͐͝ỉ̵̢̢̡̪͔̬̞͇̥̌́̂͜t̷̡̞̣͕̂̔̾̐̈̾̇̄͑̒̕̕͜͜ y̴̹̥̬͔̘͕̥̥͑͗̎͌̂̽̀̾̋̕ͅỡ̷̜̲̰͉̬̯̰̼̯̭̝͕̖̜̌̏̓̎̀̄͆̉͜u̶͙͈̤̗͔͙̪̥͆̈́̔̽͒͒͂́̽̀͒͒̕ ̴̩̮̻̤̝̙̤̺̗̣̬̬͎̤͖̳̄́̾͑̍͊̐̔̈̾͗̓̈̃̕ç̶̢̧̙͓̜̖͇̰͍̬̘̪͛̏̅͗͋͛͒͑ͅa̷̡̨̤̦̮̙͙͉̬̱͚̮͙̰̫͇͋̽͆̿͑͊̈́̌̿ͅn̶̖̲͕͔̝͔̗̳̝̳̺͉̂̈́͗͒̔͋̚͝'̶̧͚̯̺̬̟͉͖̰̝̖͚̅̿̎̾͛͑̈́͑̈́̚͜͜ͅt̶̡͇̺̭͙̯̦̠̻̘̻̖͌̀̄̾̅̎ ̴̨͉̦̬͕͓̠̋́̾̿̈́͐̏̔̔̊̚͘͘͜ͅȟ̶̨̫͔͚̪a̸̛͍̦͒̈́̐̽̅͘v̷̛̱͖͕̒͐̒̂̎̾́́͛̉̀͑̓̂͘͝é̴̢͕̺̳̥̬͙͉̊̇̌͋͆̔̒̈́̃̒̆̋̂͂ ̶͙͚̤̞͖̠̣̬͇̠̐̈̌̍̓́̈͐͝ỉ̵̢̢̡̪͔̬̞͇̥̌́̂͜t̷̡̞̣͕̂̔̾̐̈̾̇̄͑̒̕̕͜͜ y̴̹̥̬͔̘͕̥̥͑͗̎͌̂̽̀̾̋̕ͅỡ̷̜̲̰͉̬̯̰̼̯̭̝͕̖̜̌̏̓̎̀̄͆̉͜u̶͙͈̤̗͔͙̪̥͆̈́̔̽͒͒͂́̽̀͒͒̕ ̴̩̮̻̤̝̙̤̺̗̣̬̬͎̤͖̳̄́̾͑̍͊̐̔̈̾͗̓̈̃̕ç̶̢̧̙͓̜̖͇̰͍̬̘̪͛̏̅͗͋͛͒͑ͅa̷̡̨̤̦̮̙͙͉̬̱͚̮͙̰̫͇͋̽͆̿͑͊̈́̌̿ͅn̶̖̲͕͔̝͔̗̳̝̳̺͉̂̈́͗͒̔͋̚͝'̶̧͚̯̺̬̟͉͖̰̝̖͚̅̿̎̾͛͑̈́͑̈́̚͜͜ͅt̶̡͇̺̭͙̯̦̠̻̘̻̖͌̀̄̾̅̎ ̴̨͉̦̬͕͓̠̋́̾̿̈́͐̏̔̔̊̚͘͘͜ͅȟ̶̨̫͔͚̪a̸̛͍̦͒̈́̐̽̅͘v̷̛̱͖͕̒͐̒̂̎̾́́͛̉̀͑̓̂͘͝é̴̢͕̺̳̥̬͙͉̊̇̌͋͆̔̒̈́̃̒̆̋̂͂ ̶͙͚̤̞͖̠̣̬͇̠̐̈̌̍̓́̈͐͝ỉ̵̢̢̡̪͔̬̞͇̥̌́̂͜t̷̡̞̣͕̂̔̾̐̈̾̇̄͑̒̕̕͜͜ y̴̹̥̬͔̘͕̥̥͑͗̎͌̂̽̀̾̋̕ͅỡ̷̜̲̰͉̬̯̰̼̯̭̝͕̖̜̌̏̓̎̀̄͆̉͜u̶͙͈̤̗͔͙̪̥͆̈́̔̽͒͒͂́̽̀͒͒̕ ̴̩̮̻̤̝̙̤̺̗̣̬̬͎̤͖̳̄́̾͑̍͊̐̔̈̾͗̓̈̃̕ç̶̢̧̙͓̜̖͇̰͍̬̘̪͛̏̅͗͋͛͒͑ͅa̷̡̨̤̦̮̙͙͉̬̱͚̮͙̰̫͇͋̽͆̿͑͊̈́̌̿ͅn̶̖̲͕͔̝͔̗̳̝̳̺͉̂̈́͗͒̔͋̚͝'̶̧͚̯̺̬̟͉͖̰̝̖͚̅̿̎̾͛͑̈́͑̈́̚͜͜ͅt̶̡͇̺̭͙̯̦̠̻̘̻̖͌̀̄̾̅̎ ̴̨͉̦̬͕͓̠̋́̾̿̈́͐̏̔̔̊̚͘͘͜ͅȟ̶̨̫͔͚̪a̸̛͍̦͒̈́̐̽̅͘v̷̛̱͖͕̒͐̒̂̎̾́́͛̉̀͑̓̂͘͝é̴̢͕̺̳̥̬͙͉̊̇̌͋͆̔̒̈́̃̒̆̋̂͂ ̶͙͚̤̞͖̠̣̬͇̠̐̈̌̍̓́̈͐͝ỉ̵̢̢̡̪͔̬̞͇̥̌́̂͜t̷̡̞̣͕̂̔̾̐̈̾̇̄͑̒̕̕͜͜ y̴̹̥̬͔̘͕̥̥͑͗̎͌̂̽̀̾̋̕ͅỡ̷̜̲̰͉̬̯̰̼̯̭̝͕̖̜̌̏̓̎̀̄͆̉͜u̶͙͈̤̗͔͙̪̥͆̈́̔̽͒͒͂́̽̀͒͒̕ ̴̩̮̻̤̝̙̤̺̗̣̬̬͎̤͖̳̄́̾͑̍͊̐̔̈̾͗̓̈̃̕ç̶̢̧̙͓̜̖͇̰͍̬̘̪͛̏̅͗͋͛͒͑ͅa̷̡̨̤̦̮̙͙͉̬̱͚̮͙̰̫͇͋̽͆̿͑͊̈́̌̿ͅn̶̖̲͕͔̝͔̗̳̝̳̺͉̂̈́͗͒̔͋̚͝'̶̧͚̯̺̬̟͉͖̰̝̖͚̅̿̎̾͛͑̈́͑̈́̚͜͜ͅt̶̡͇̺̭͙̯̦̠̻̘̻̖͌̀̄̾̅̎ ̴̨͉̦̬͕͓̠̋́̾̿̈́͐̏̔̔̊̚͘͘͜ͅȟ̶̨̫͔͚̪a̸̛͍̦͒̈́̐̽̅͘v̷̛̱͖͕̒͐̒̂̎̾́́͛̉̀͑̓̂͘͝é̴̢͕̺̳̥̬͙͉̊̇̌͋͆̔̒̈́̃̒̆̋̂͂ ̶͙͚̤̞͖̠̣̬͇̠̐̈̌̍̓́̈͐͝ỉ̵̢̢̡̪͔̬̞͇̥̌́̂͜t̷̡̞̣͕̂̔̾̐̈̾̇̄͑̒̕̕͜͜ y̴̹̥̬͔̘͕̥̥͑͗̎͌̂̽̀̾̋̕ͅỡ̷̜̲̰͉̬̯̰̼̯̭̝͕̖̜̌̏̓̎̀̄͆̉͜u̶͙͈̤̗͔͙̪̥͆̈́̔̽͒͒͂́̽̀͒͒̕ ̴̩̮̻̤̝̙̤̺̗̣̬̬͎̤͖̳̄́̾͑̍͊̐̔̈̾͗̓̈̃̕ç̶̢̧̙͓̜̖͇̰͍̬̘̪͛̏̅͗͋͛͒͑ͅa̷̡̨̤̦̮̙͙͉̬̱͚̮͙̰̫͇͋̽͆̿͑͊̈́̌̿ͅn̶̖̲͕͔̝͔̗̳̝̳̺͉̂̈́͗͒̔͋̚͝'̶̧͚̯̺̬̟͉͖̰̝̖͚̅̿̎̾͛͑̈́͑̈́̚͜͜ͅt̶̡͇̺̭͙̯̦̠̻̘̻̖͌̀̄̾̅̎ ̴̨͉̦̬͕͓̠̋́̾̿̈́͐̏̔̔̊̚͘͘͜ͅȟ̶̨̫͔͚̪a̸̛͍̦͒̈́̐̽̅͘v̷̛̱͖͕̒͐̒̂̎̾́́͛̉̀͑̓̂͘͝é̴̢͕̺̳̥̬͙͉̊̇̌͋͆̔̒̈́̃̒̆̋̂͂ ̶͙͚̤̞͖̠̣̬͇̠̐̈̌̍̓́̈͐͝ỉ̵̢̢̡̪͔̬̞͇̥̌́̂͜t̷̡̞̣͕̂̔̾̐̈̾̇̄͑̒̕̕͜͜

It had attacked them almost immediately after that, leaving no room for analysis, no moment for puzzling out what exactly was happening before it was too late. Eikon and Dominant split back into their pairs and fought for their lives as the beast the voice belonged to dropped from the ceiling and unleashed hell upon them all.

Through it all, its voice screamed constantly. Void-filled shrieks of insanity and mad cackles of nothingness as it pulled the very air around them and tried to compress every living thing in the room into the same abyss that echoed as it screamed.

It was by the skin of their teeth, and only thanks to all six of them working in tandem, that they managed to fell it before it crushed them all under the weight of its own power and insanity.

The three of them had been sitting there at the base of the tower's entrance, after the traders had gone and the threat of this manufactured Mothercrystal destroyed, in the ash of the Deadlands trying to process what they had just witnessed, and trying in vain to get the feel of the mad Eikon's voice out of their heads.

It was dark before anyone spoke again.

"Founder, what was that thing? Ifrit said it was an Eikon?!" Joshua rasped, a hand running through his hair to try and ground his racing mind.

"An Eikon of…I can't even put a word to what it was channeling," Jill fumbled with her words, unable to form a coherent description.

"Gravity. Pure unaltered power from the cosmos itself, stuffed into that body with nothing to ground it," Clive sighed. His felt his skin crawl at the recollection of what it reminded him of. "It reminded me of Odin. Odin feels…empty. But this thing…this was…"

"Sheer insanity. Like simply listening to it was enough to shatter your mind," Jill whispered, realizing in horror what any more prolonged exposure to the false Eikon might have wrought.

"By the Flames…" Joshua whispered, the true magnitude of what they narrowly avoided stealing whatever words might have followed.

There was another prolonged and strained silence as the three of them tried to wrap their heads around everything, until they all heard the quiet voice of Phoenix drift up through the aether between them.

Its mind was broken. Like it was devouring its own words before it could speak them into the aether, the Firebird crooned.

The three Dominants glanced at each other silently, as if to confirm they had all heard it, and seemed to decide that this revelation of being able to hear another's Eikon was something that could be examined later.  What mattered now was that their Eikons were hurting, and Phoenix had done what the others would not, and admitted it openly.  The floodgates breached, her brethren followed suit.  The least the Dominants could do was listen.  Questions could come after.

Everything we were and might have been but for our binding to humanity, Shiva's voice whispered in agreement.

Left to languish here in eternity with nothing but it's screaming words, Ifrit snarled, but his normal confident anger seemed shaken.  He seemed...sad.  Mournful.

Shiva's cold chill cut through the beat of silence, the prior softness of disbelief hardened into rage.  These Fallen truly were monsters.

The quiet whistle of wind through the canyon walls filled the silence as the three Dominants sat quietly bearing witness to their Eikon's testimony. As unnerved as they might have been by the false Eikon's sheer intensity, the concept of one of your own being turned into something so vile and othered from what it should have been…it was all a new and deeply personal horror to the elementals. Sadly, Clive, Jill, and Joshua were all too familiar seeing the depths of depravity one could inflict on their own, so the three of them merely sat there, allowing their wardens to grieve.

Nothing more was said for the rest of the night as they picked themselves up and started heading back towards the edge of the Dim. It was a slow procession, but they all seemed to agree that no one was sleeping tonight, so they might as well cover what ground they could before the true exhaustion caught up with them. They might even luck out and make it the meadows where Ambrosia and her flock waited for their return, just outside the border of Blight.  The entire trek, they could feel their Eikons stirring restlessly.

Even if the muted sunlight of dawn hadn't illuminated the exact point where the Deadlands ended and the unblighted land began, the three Dominants knew instantly because there was a sudden rush of aether being pulled, not by them, but by their Eikons as soon as the resource returned. They glanced at each other in surprise, but mercifully said nothing. They couldn't even be sure their Eikons were aware they were doing it.

Shiva, being split between Clive and Jill, merely coated Jill's skin in a thin layer of rime and spread in a small circle around where she stepped, her breath hanging in the air in front of her in puffs of cold.

Phoenix exuded a nearly translucent layer of flame and Joshua's eyes lighting up with the dancing greens and oranges of her fire. Once in awhile Clive could see small pinions of feathers along the back of Joshua's shawl.

Ifrit resorted to his usual habits, embers and smoke as Clive breathed, but one of his arms was uncomfortably warm, and he could feel that itch of rough plating underneath his armor. If he looked in a mirror he imagined his eyes were threatening to turn yellow.

Does it ever fade?

It might as well have been a crack of thunder the way it pierced the silence. Still broadcast across whatever bridge the Eikons had inadvertently erected between their Dominants, Ifrit's voice still held that note of sadness, but it was more sturdy than before. It made sense, of the three Eikons, he was likely the most used to having his world view upended and torn down around him.  He'd likely be the one to accept and recover the quickest.

"Does what ever fade?" Joshua asked with equal softness.

This sense of horror? The normally soft voice of the Firebird was fragile and muted.

This rage? Shiva's voice still held its icy disdain, but there was cold fury under there, like water boring through a glacier.

The three Dominants looked at each other sadly.

"No. Not really. It stays with you," Clive said softly.

"The anger doesn't fade, but it changes," Jill added. "You can choose to live with it, to make peace with it, or you can choose to let it eat you alive."

"All you can do is remember, and try to make sure it never happens again," Joshua finished.

The three Eikons seemed to consider their words carefully, and then withdrew. The bridge no one had noticed being put up receded, and each Dominant was left alone with just the dim awareness that their Eikons lurked in the background, lost in their own thoughts.

Clive paused a moment and glanced back at the distant silhouette of Sagespire, replaying their impulsive advice to their own Eikons in his head.

Never again. They would make sure of that.  He would make sure of that. No matter what it cost.

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