Laphisto was barely conscious, his body slack with exhaustion, his mind reeling from the torment he had endured—until it stopped. The pain ceased as suddenly as it had begun, ripped away as the two gods clashed before him in a maelstrom of divine power. And then... others. Faint outlines. Familiar forms. Kiev'arians? No
not the living. These were the souls carried by
Diarch Rellik
,
Diarch Reign
, and
Zinayn
.
He was barely on his knees when
Zara Saga
and Zinayn reached him. Without hesitation, they thrust the godly Fire Tears into his hands. The moment he made contact, a violent surge of energy tore through his body. Laphisto grunted, his head snapping back with a raw, guttural sound not a scream of agony, but of sheer force, as if his body was being seized by something greater than pain.
From his left arm, the corruptive energy of Saurav'ix's Tear surged upward, dark and wildfire-like, veins blackening and spreading toward his chest. From the right, Dra'ko's Tear answered with radiant gold, the glow searing through his armor, tracing holy light up along his neck and face. Both streams met at his core, clashing and coiling around the Fire Tear embedded within him like twin serpents battling for dominance. Though most Fire Tears were the size of a large Marble these godly fragments were nearly as large as a baseball or large stone. Laphisto's hands clenched tightly around them, knuckles pale beneath gauntlets, as though held fast by lightning itself. He couldn't let go. Perhaps he
wasn't allowed to.
Outwardly, his body twitched and shuddered with intermittent spasms, a low groan slipping from his lips between each convulsion. But within his mind. He was falling through lifetimes. Memories flooded him centuries, millennia too many to comprehend. He couldn't hold onto a single one before another followed, cascading over him like a tidal wave of moments lived by gods. Every triumph, every betrayal, every death and rebirth blurred together in an unrelenting torrent. No time to make sense of it. No breath to catch. Just a torrent of divine memory and at its center,
himself, struggling to remain.
wWhen Rellik took hold of the spear, Vrax did not come to his calling. He didn't even look back toward the Diarch—he was far too busy locked in desperate combat. As Vrax launched himself into the air for another strike, Saurav'ix moved with vicious precision. A clawed hand lashed out, catching the soul mid-leap, slamming him into the stone like a broken banner. In the same instant, a massive foot crashed down atop Nai, pinning her to the ground with a snarl of triumph. Above them, the Mad God loomed, holding Dra'ko at bay with the same weapon Rellik now clutched.
But something had changed. As the Diarch gripped the ancient spear, a pulse of light shimmered outward from his hands. The temple around him seemed to still not in peace, but in anticipation. And then, from that light, an apparition emerged. A Kiev'arian Warden stepped forward tall and commanding, his body formed from orange-gold brilliance. Ethereal armor gleamed across his form, scarred and weathered from forgotten wars. Each piece bore the weight of a hundred oaths, of battles fought for duty rather than glory. His eyes twin flames of molten purpose locked onto Rellik with unflinching focus.
"
You would sacrifice your soul… your life… to bring down the Mad God?" the Warden asked, his voice like a blade drawn in silence. "
To protect those who still stand? Those who still hope?" The question wasn't doubt. It was ritual. A rite of passage. "
You will be my vessel, and I your weapon. I was forged to be wielded in moments such as this. Take me strike with me and become the Defier of Death itself." Before Rellik could speak, the Warden surged forward not with violence, but with unity. His form broke apart in radiant strands of energy, wrapping around the Diarch like living flame. The spear blazed to life in his hands, and Rellik's body ignited with power his armor glowing from within, each movement echoing with the resonance of the Warden's warcry. and an etherial echo of the warden echoed around rellik as he lunged forwards
When Reign gripped the hilt of the sword still lodged in Saurav'ix's chest, the world around him dissolved. In the blink of an eye, he was no longer in the temple. The heat, the screams, the clash of gods it all vanished. He stood in a vast chamber of pure white, weightless and still. The air was quiet, but not silent; it thrummed with something deeper, something eternal. Ahead of him, four Kiev'arians sat upon thrones carved from ancient materials one of fire-veined obsidian, another of carved jade, one of crystalline windglass, and the last of water-smoothed stone. They were the first monarchs of Kiev'ara, the architects of a people's legacy, and they looked upon him not with malice or warmth, but with the calm detachment of judgment.
They spoke softly in their native tongue, their voices echoing through the chamber like wind across a mountaintop. Though he could not understand the language itself, the intent behind it resonated clearly. They were not addressing him. They were deliberating. Then, the monarch seated upon the throne of green jade raised her hand. She did not move toward Reign physically, but her presence reached out all the same. A gentle but irresistible force tugged at something deep within him. Memories began to rise unbidden, unstoppable.
Moments from his past flickered before the monarchs like shards of broken glass. They saw his victories and his failures. They witnessed his courage in battle, his moments of weakness, the times he held fast when it would have been easier to run, and the times he hesitated when he should have acted. Every choice he had made and every one he had avoided all of it spilled forth into the chamber. One by one, the monarchs joined her. The one of stone reached next, followed by the figures of wind and water. Each of them pulled more pieces of his life into the open, dissecting them with unspoken precision. His soul lay bare before them, exposed and stripped of pretense.
And still, Reign did not falter. Finally, the monarchs ceased. The air grew still, and the light of the chamber steadied into a soft glow. The four rulers turned their gaze to him in unison. Their expressions shifted from distant contemplation to solemn certainty. Then, as one, they spoke not in fragmented voices, but in a single, harmonious tone that reverberated through the air and through Reign's chest.
"In our final breath,
we chose each other.
Let fire defend.
Let stone stand.
Let wind lift.
Let water heal. In unity, we found our end and through you,
we begin again." The chamber broke apart like shattered glass. Light fractured around him, and Reign found himself once more standing in the temple. The sword had come free of the god's chest and now burned in his grip, pulsing with energy. It no longer felt like a weapon forged by mortal hands. It felt alive resonant, righteous, and impossibly heavy with purpose.
But Reign no longer carried it alone.As he turned to rejoin the battle, the monarchs surged behind him not as ghosts, but as warriors reborn through him. One carried a greatspear wrapped in sun-forged runes. Another strode with a broad axe etched in the shape of the mountain roots. A third raised a crystal bow, loosing arrow after arrow with unerring precision, and the last held a longsword that sang through the air like wind over a field. and they all joined in the attack with reign
For a brief moment, it looked as though Saurav'ix had the upper hand. His monstrous form towered over the battlefield, drenched in darkness, radiating malice. He batted aside Vrax and Nai as if they were insects, mocking them with cruel delight. Even Dra'ko, his own brother, was forced back under the crushing force of his spear. "
You cannot stop me, brother," Saurav'ix snarled, lips curling back to reveal rows of jagged, glistening teeth. "
Not even with the help of these... pests." His gaze fell on Vrax, who still dared to rise. With a sudden, brutal lunge, Saurav'ix grabbed the soul-warrior and lifted him high, maw opening wide to devour him whole. The air trembled with a sickening anticipation until a sudden scream of pain erupted from the god himself. He staggered.
The spear, now wielded by Rellik, had found its mark once more, driven deep into Saurav'ix's side. The astral visage of the Warden flared to full brilliance, surrounding the Diarch like a blazing halo of defiance. Golden light surged from the weapon, coursing through the god's frame like fire through dry brush. The Mad God howled, clutching at the wound as Vrax dropped from his grip and rolled free. But the onslaught had only just begun. A second blow struck Reign's blade slammed into Saurav'ix's shoulder with thunderous force, the power of the monarchs coursing through every inch of its edge. The god reeled, staggering under the force of the strike. Then the monarchs descended. Spear. Axe. Blade. Arrow.
They struck as one silent, wrathful, precise. The monarch with the sun-forged spear drove it into Saurav'ix's chest. The one with the crystal bow unleashed a relentless stream of glowing arrows, each shot piercing deep into corrupted flesh. The axe cleaved through tendon and shadow alike, while the curved blade danced across the god's form in a blur of flashing wind. Saurav'ix screamed a guttural, primal sound that rattled the pillars of the temple. He twisted and thrashed, trying to throw them off, but the weight of justice was upon him. The ancient dead had returned, and they would not yield.
"
NO!" he roared, voice cracked and furious. "
GET OFF OF ME, YOU VILE CRETINS!" He crashed backward, body slamming against the cold stone floor with an earth-shaking impact. Shadows bled from his wounds, curling and writhing like smoke torn from a dying flame. The god of death clawed at the earth beneath him, desperate to rise. But his fall had already begun.
The battlefield convulsed. The air turned thick, oppressive, as if reality itself resisted what was about to occur. Saurav'ix let out a guttural, soul-tearing roar that echoed across the temple, sending fractures crawling up the pillars and walls. Dra'ko, weakened from the struggle, dropped to one knee. His form flickered like a dying flame, then faded entirely—his presence vanishing in silence, no longer separate, no longer resisting. The Mad God of Death clawed at the stone floor with twisted, blackened talons, raking deep scars through the marble as he fought to anchor himself in a world slipping from his grasp. "
No!" he howled, voice fraying with desperation.
"I will not end like this! You were to be my vessel, you wretched welp!"
He turned toward Laphisto and froze. Laphisto stood tall, motionless at the center of the chaos, bathed in a blinding storm of gold and shadow. In one hand, the Fire Tear of Saurav'ix pulsed violently, the corrupted crystal swirling with blackened energy. In the other, Dra'ko's Tear had grown dim its light exhausted, its essence already flowing through his veins. Without hesitation, Laphisto crushed the inert Tear of Dra'ko.
The crystal shattered with a crack like thunder, disintegrating into dust that spun upward into the torrent surrounding him. A golden aura flared from within his armor, veins of light crawling up his neck, his face, and across the exposed seams of his armor like a star trying to burst through flesh. Saurav'ix staggered backward, his frame flickering in and out of cohesion. Shadows peeled from his body in tendrils, as if being siphoned by the very force he once sought to dominate. And then Laphisto raised the second Tear. His grip tightened.
The Fire Tear of Saurav'ix screamed a keening sound of breaking divinity as its surface cracked, energy seeping through his fingers in bolts of black flame. Laphisto did not roar, did not cry out. His jaw clenched, his limbs trembled, but his eyes bright with both agony and clarity never left the god before him. The crystal gave one final pulse, then cracked down the center. Saurav'ix howled, a sound of disbelief and unmaking.
The Mad God lurched forward, trying to escape crawling, clawing, defiant even in death. But the pull was too strong. Shadow poured from him like ink into water, drawn into Laphisto's outstretched hand as the Tear finally collapsed inward. The remnants of the god's soul, once so vast and cruel, now shattered and consumed, folded into Laphisto's very essence. When the last echo of Saurav'ix vanished, the temple fell into stillness.
Laphisto stood in silence for one heartbeat moreboth godly Tears destroyed, both powers fused within him. Golden light and deep shadow coiled around his frame, flaring in sharp pulses before vanishing into his skin. His eyes dimmed. His shoulders sagged. And then, without ceremony, he dropped. His knees buckled, strength fled from his limbs, and he collapsed forward striking the cold stone floor with a heavy thud. His breathing was ragged, shallow. Smoke curled from his gauntlets. Light flickered from the veins in his neck like embers gasping for air.
As the final echoes of battle faded into silence, the souls of Nai and Vrax stepped forward, their ethereal forms flickering faintly in the aftermath of divine upheaval. Both stood over Laphisto's collapsed form, gazing down at him with unreadable expressions neither pity nor sorrow, but something deeper. Respect. Recognition. They glanced at each other, warriors bound not by blood, but by battle. No words passed between them, none were needed. Then, slowly, their eyes turned outward toward those who had carried them this far. Vrax's gaze settled on Rellik. The old soul studied the Diarch for a long, quiet moment. He said nothing, but in that silence was something firm and sincere. With a solemn nod and a short, respectful bow, he acknowledged Rellik not just as a vessel, but as a warrior worthy of trust. Then his form shimmered once, and he vanished, drawn back into the glowing Fire Tear that housed him.
Nai turned next, arms crossing over her chest as she walked toward Zinayn. Her expression was sharp as ever, but the fire behind her eyes had softened just enough to show she had seen what he had done what he had risked. "
You're not as much of a coward as I thought you were," she said, her voice blunt but not cruel. She held his gaze for a beat longer, the edge in her tone easing just slightly. "
Maybe we'll get along after all." And then, without fanfare, she too dissolved into radiant mist, her spirit flowing back into her Fire Tear with a flicker of warm light. The chamber was quiet once more. The souls had returned to their sacred crystals at peace, for now leaving only their wielders, their memories, and the burden of what had just been survived.
GM RESPONSE FOR
Brakkus
The expedition into the Tomb of the Forgotten Kings continued with methodical precision, the Ando Mining Collective's contracted personnel working seamlessly alongside cultural experts and mapping droids. With no DSSI oversight, the responsibility and reward fell entirely to AMC hands, and the operation had proceeded accordingly: cautiously, efficiently, and with an eye for anything of commercial, cultural, or historical value.
As the droids pushed deeper, the tomb's scale began to reveal itself. What had originally been assumed to be a single-level crypt rapidly expanded into a multi-tiered labyrinth of chambers, corridors, and sealed alcoves each one carefully carved into the planet's black subsurface stone. Despite its immense age, the structure remained remarkably intact, its construction durable and its layout deliberate.
One of the first major discoveries was a ceremonial
armory vault, now designated Sector 3-A. Weapons of all kinds were displayed along stone racks polearms, shortblades, warhammers, swordeach forged from high-integrity materials such as Phrik, Songsteel, and what scans confirmed to be Kov'dra-alloy. Not one showed signs of corrosion or degradation. Several suits of ceremonial armor, stylized and ornate, stood on raised plinths. The arrangement suggested high-status warriorschampions or royal guard equivalents. Each piece was catalogued and marked for secure recovery.
Nearby in Sector 3-C, the team entered what appeared to be a
funeral gallery, possibly used for public rites. Stone benches formed a ring around a central platform ringed with inert braziers. The basin at the center contained remnants of what analysts believe to be ceremonial ash or oil. Along the chamber's walls were murals depicting battle processions and ritual send-offs, possibly spiritual in nature. While of cultural value, the items here held less material interest, and were prioritized for non-invasive scanning and archival.
The most unusual findings came from Sector 3-D: a cluster of
noble crypt alcoves. Each sealed recess contained a sarcophagus, adorned with crests and decorative filigree. Upon opening them, however, teams discovered a startling uniformity:
no remains were present. Where skeletal remains were expected, there was only empty armor full suits, perfectly arranged in traditional burial poses, with no signs of organic decay, bone, or biological residue. Each armor set was accompanied by personal effects pendants, brooches, and ornamental blades but no physical body. The anomaly was consistent across every alcove, and it has been flagged for further investigation by the anthropological division.
Deeper still, Sector 3-F yielded an
archive niche a modest chamber of slate shelves, housing crystal tablets, etched metal scrolls, and thin-bound volumes made of hardened resin. The content appeared to focus on genealogies, martial commendations, and what may be succession records. These were carefully recovered and transferred to containment units for analysis aboard the orbital station. Given the absence of electronic technology, all records appear to have been created manually using engraving and mineral-based inks.
Environmental conditions throughout the tomb remain stable. The structure is sound, with no active hazards or signs of advanced mechanisms. No traps or moving parts have been discovered.