"I AM THE GUARDIAN OF HEAVENLY TREASURES, THE PATRON OF RIGHTEOUS WARRIORS AND PUNISHER OF THOSE WITHOUT HONOR!" the Avatar continued to speak. It seemed as if, with each utterance, its presence became more real and less ethereal, as if introducing itself in this manner was part of the incarnation ritual.
The Avatar raised its right hand. Countless revenants were expelled from the mouth on its chest, forming into a spear at first. In its second hand, a khakkhara staff began to form. However, as both implements reached halfway completion, the avatar brought them together and they merged to become a gigantic, red-glowing copy of the Oculus.
It was just in time, as the Truthseeking Revenant began expelling from its eyes a deluge of what appeared to be boiling, burning blood. Its destructive power, however, far surpassed the source of its form, setting the air ablaze with its passing. Before the deluge could reach the Avatar, it slammed its staff into the ground, its rings producing a sound akin to several church bells ringing at once. The Revenant’s fire was consumed into the staff’s eye.
"REJOICE, RIGHTEOUS ONES! YOU HAVE STRUGGLED GREATLY TO CALL ME FORTH, AND HERE I STAND!"
From the avatar’s head a mighty mane grew, wrought not of hair nor fur, but the vengeful energy of Eberheim’s dead. It burned with the crimson-red of wrath, transitioning to orange at points.
"HALLOWED BE MY NAME:"
"KISHIN-SHURA-BISHAMONTEN!"
With only the utterance of its name, the ground around the Avatar of Bishamonten collapsed by several meters within a thirty-meter-wide circle around the construct. The Truthseeking Revenant stumbled back as if it had been struck, widening its stance to counteract the immense weight pressing down on it. An emblem bearing a sigil in the Itrian language embossed itself onto the Avatar's chest, just above the eyes of the wrathful face. It thrummed with power and truth, such that all who looked upon it would know what it meant.
PURIFICATION
The Avatar of Bishamonten raised up its staff-spear, thrusting it down upon the Revenant. It grabbed the spear, halting it dead, but the moment Third mobilized the power of his construct, it was torn away, drawn into the Avatar's maw. The more the Revenant struggled, the more of its power was ripped away.
The two giants exchanged several blows that went nowhere, being either dodged or blocked. Even these few exchanges, however, sent out immensely violent shockwaves that shook the earth.
Eventually, however, Bishamonten skewered the Sacrificial Revenant, stepping forward and forcing it down to its knees. With each passing moment the aura visibly drained out of Third's construct, gathering in the eye of Bishamonten's staff. Bit by nigh-imperceptible bit, the Revenant shrunk, and bit by bit, Bishamonten pushed the spear deeper, closer to Third himself. Even still the Revenant struggled, grasping at the spear.
Somehow, some way, Third managed to wrest control of the spear-staff from Victor and Bishamonten, evidenced by a shift in its colour. With an immense heave, replicating Third's feat against Zelsys, the Revenant tore the spear out of itself, mere metres from reaching Third's true body. Bishamonten stumbled, thrown off-balance, and, taking the opening, the scarlet titan sprung backwards. It landed unsteadily, stumbling backwards before eventually stabilizing itself against a mostly-intact building in a wide, low-down stance. It threw its head back, and power surged within it, as if it was about to use another ranged attack. Bishamonten braced himself, prepared to devour and purify, but no attack emerged. The flows within the Revenant were not stirring power for expulsion, but seemingly trying to compress as much as possible. It shrank even more, down to less than two-thirds Bishamonten's height.
Third's voice, coloured by simple desperation, echoed across the desolate city centre: “GREAT ARMAGEDDON, CLAIM NOW MY HEART!”
A light came to life inside the Revenant, spreading through it like a flame, its form distorting and stretching. For a moment it seemed like the Revenant would explode, but Bishamonten leapt through the air with an explosion of force and buried the spear into the Revenant's chest once more.
The emblem of purification shone with blindingly-bright light, and the giant's mouth chanted a mantra in lockstep with Victor, who still desperately clung to the avatar's back. Boom. Boom. Boom. Bishamonten's already immense presence multiplied, just for a moment, and once more circles were blasted into the ground beneath its feet. Bishamonten pushed, kicking out the Revenant's feet to force it onto its back. The avatar then stepped back out of the trio of circles, leaving the Revenant skewered, the flame-like reaction inside it slowed, but not halted.
Bishamonten clapped its hands together with a thunderclap.
The explosion came; there was no distinct combustion, one moment the Revenant was, and the next, it became a pillar of red light shooting into the sky. Even now, it was purified the moment it exited Third's grasp, fleshy scarlet turning to brilliant, pure red and then golden-white as it pierced the gathering clouds.
In mere moments, it seemed as though Bishamonten had formed a three-layered containment formation. Those with eyes to see, however, knew better. Glyphs of power burned around each circle's perimeter, but they were not quite those contained within the scrolls, bearing modifications based on Victor's fragmentary understanding of Antediluvian Glyphs. Indeed, the reason for this was the same behind the merging of the staff and spear which Bishamonten normally wielded separately, and it was the reason for the alteration of its combat style to include certain techniques the warrior-god was not known to use. The Avatar was controlled neither by Bishamonten, nor by Victor, but by both of them in unison.
At first, the pillar of flame was contained within the innermost ring, then the second, and the third. The clouds changed colour from a reddish-grey, and soon enough, a rain of golden ichor fell upon Eberheim; the purified remnants of but a few of its dead, returning to their home. All those upon whom the golden rain fell suddenly felt their pains melting away and their wounds knitting back together. Well, there was one exception. A survivor of the Order, who found out the hard way that the hate Eberheim’s fallen held for his kind was still very present even in this purified ichor. His swift, yet excruciating death left behind only an empty, suspiciously greasy black robe.
Patreon
