Othomo wrenched his arm tighter around the stormlich's throat, hard enough for one of his pale green eyes to pop out of his skull. The little worm squirreled to free himself from Othomo's grip, making it difficult for him to maintain his shadow. He could hear the rush of Kari's flames, and feel a new aura of radiant power drawing close.

"Is this how you want her to see you?" he whispered to the stormlich. "One eyed, no jaw, a knife up your rectum?". He apologized inwardly to Friend. The stormlich had given him no choice. He'd been crawling on all ours looking for his jaw, and Othomo had to disable him quickly. "Hold still!". He gave the stormlich a brutal jab in the hip with his knee, and felt sickened by the ensuing crunch. The cryptknight went still then, his shattered hip bones congealing into a viscous ooze and reshaping against Othomo's leg. The shadow shuddered.

The new aura never came very close, but Kari, she danced about like a candle being carried about a dark room, its robed bearer breathing stiffly in the dark as old floorboards creaked beneath bare feet. Warily she tread, the poor Beast of the Border providing one last service in its death. Doubtless she feared it, as well she should. Those Mighty crafted of one parent's thought had not the temperance to stand against the primordial woes of Elohal's tools. She likely thought the feeder wounded, or incapable of death. But Othomo had struck it deep through its maw with his full strength. Hadeon was waking, and the innanis surged with brotherly love from the void. Even holding tight the stormlich, he felt his old black furnace blaze. So strong was it, that he felt tempted to rise and make war, but he did not know this new warrior, and he knew the stormlich would not be trustworthy. He would turn at first chance to win Kari's heart.

And this new warrior... Othomo wondered at the power he brought. He sensed the cool temper of a huntsman, and the caution of a Mortal. But ohr was there in great strength, and radiance in high concentration. Most of all, there was splendor in its rays, splendor that came only from the gold crown chained above Avon Lasair. Had Thrond crafted Arun a new weapon? Did Kari bring with her a new golem, deadlier than the armies of automata fielded by her father in days past?

They left at last, Othomo's shroud having done its work well. They waited, just to be sure, and Othomo took the pattering of rain as a sign his attackers had fled. He then gently released the stormlich and stood, holding one hand up in gesture of peace, while hooking Mistress onto Limi's jaw and dragging it within reach.

"This means nothing!" the lich slurred as he fastened his jaw.

Othomo noticed the strange helmet Limo wore, with an oversized chin strap that looked almost like a cage. Limo's pale green eyes seemed to ooze out of the helmet's overly tight visor, causing a malaise of the soul to spread intra the lord of darkness.

Limo stood half hunched, one arm dangling, the other half cocked and ready to strike. He was panting, and the cold light of his kingdom seemed to emanate from within his desiccated body. They were close to Sellene's kingdom now, and the sky was a grey that spoke not of rain, but of frozen things, and a desperate reaching of silver and gold that did not quite bring their fingers to touch. An eerie green-blue shimmer swirled above the firmament, dancing lazily in a semi circle over the two lords. Othomo planted Mistress blade first into the ground, and without thinking searched for the child.

"Did you bring backup?!" Limo hissed. He was a foul, bitter creature. A line of drool seeped over a sagging corner of his mouth.

Othomo did not respond with words, but with a long drawn whisper both cold and resonant, high as the wind and low as the earth, he made it known to the stormlich that he had no time for games. As his whisper grew in volume the cracks in his iron flesh blazed with what Sunlight could be drawn from the sky.

"Can't you just speak?". Limo was bent almost double now, his head turned sidelong and mouth open in a crazed stare. To think that this abomination loved Kari. Othomo had no affection for her, but she was beautiful, and fathoms uncountable out of Sulimozifaron's reach. Even when he traversed etherium, his visage was one of decay, albeit less moist.

Othomo raised his arms and wove a vortex of pure force that pulled all materium inward for seven spans. Limo himself was pulled almost to stumbling, but he dug his ragged heels into the ground and held fast.

"Allright!". He sent a blast of air that reeked of sickness towards Othomo, and the dark one lowered his hands.

When the air settled, he pointed towards the kingdom of Selenne, and whispered the name of his horse.

"You expect me to betray my mother? For you? You're insane! And why would I assault my own homeland? Huh! Even to spite my brothers I'd never...". He looked back towards the thick gloom that billowed downward between the reals. For a long moment he stood thus, hunched and cocked and weird, then he rolled his head sideways to look at Othomo, who almost laughed at the ludicrous pose he was in. "Fine!". The lich stood to a barely walkable posture, then went back to where they first fought. Othomo gripped Mistress by the haft, by the lich held out a hand and waved with annoyance. "My stuff...", he half pointed, half waved, then went and gathered up a large bundle of gear. "You mak me sick!" he shouted as he came trudging back. "You even look evil. And you stink. You smell like death!".

Othomo did laugh now, half in horror of this man's lunacy. Disturbed, the innanis rattled.

"You mock me?", his voice lowered. "I know death. I've seen it. I've toyed with it. Whatever you think your aim is, you bring nothing good with you.". He stomped past Othomo towards the border, then looked back over his unevenly slumped shoulder. "Come on!".

Othomo shook his head, then followed the stormlich, searching for the child. Limo kept prattling on, spitting threats and insults. Soon they were at the wall.

"You know all doors," Othomo said, his voice devoid of feeling.

Limo turned and sort of growled, sort of choked. "Can't your brother suck us into the void and spit us out on the other side? We go north, or we go south. I can't just will an opening."

The wall was at once a thing of making and a thing of being, a thing of seeing and a thing of feeling. One saw it in their dreams, if they had purpose on the other side. Othomo had no purpose in Sellene's kingdom, not since she had visited his mind. He had only a friend who's support he needed. As Kari was to Arun, so Victory was to Othomo. All his desire to accomplish his goal, and all his rage at those who diverted from Genesis for selfish want, had birthed a beast of unyielding resolve who carried with him all the power of the dark. With Victory at his side, or between his heels, Othomo would be an army unto himself, even with Foe still held hostage. Although...

"I feel something," he announced.

"I doubt that!". Limo sat with his back to the wall and pouted.

The wall, it is nameless. By no hand was it built. It rises, high and higher, tall as it needs to be, immense and unscalable, the color of deepest earth. Othomo pressed his hand to it and saw vines creeping along its surface, and beyond the vines, rivers, beyond the rivers, mountains and deserts and far green hills that rolled into mist. He saw the world he would die to create. Death and life, ever bound. And here I am with life's final piece, and death is by my side, pouting.

The colors of the sky were now a blend of stormy hues. Deep blue mixed with a syrupy violet, and flashes of gold lightning heralded faint thunder claps. Othomo looked to Limo, who's tears came from the sky. "The closest door," he whispered.

Limo looked to him indignantly. "Your heart is the closest door! Stop asking me for help. I'm ding enough for you already, and only because I'm bored."

"You're afraid." Othomo leaned forward, pressing Limo with his will. The stormlich rose suddenly and touched the wall, summoning a doorway of white fog. Othomo walked to the fog, shaking his head at Limo, and pushed the sniveling wretch through. Limo quickly reached a hand back from the fog and snatched his satchel of gear. When Othomo too emerged on the other side, the sky was a grey so dark it almost seemed black. He thought of the child, left behind in Arun's kingdom, and for a moment he worried. But then he remembered how it had braved the dying lands of dust, and how he had adorned it with a scrap of his cloak.

It will be fine, he thought. Then he looked to his own circumstance. A soft blue glow came from the ground about him, and far away, faint and flickering, the blue light rose in a thin strand into the sky, cupping like a circle of groping hands that symbol of the other side, the silver crown of the Pale Queen Selenne.