Time Enough

[Karuka]

All Ragnarok had broken loose. That was the only possible explanation. Damon had killed one of the frost giants and triggered Ragnarok, the end of the world. It would make sense, too. He was an Elf; the Elves and Giants were enemies in the old legends she'd learned from the Crone when she was a girl. Maybe it hadn't been Damon's intention to start Ragnarok, but one couldn't fight one's dharma.

Denizens of Hel itself screamed out in the dank night air and walked through the darkened streets of a city black as despair. A monolithic structure stood starkly against the moon, but all that came from it were more screams from the damned and dying. The whole scene made the hairs on the back of Karuka's neck stand on end, but not as much as the realization that she was a witness to the end of the world made her heart sink into the pit of her stomach.

An' even th' gods are t' die.

That thought put a new element of terror into the night for her. If the gods themselves had perished or were perishing, she had no one to call out to for power; she'd lost her most effective method of fighting such creatures. She was outmatched here with no hope of redemption.

Everything was coming to its final end.

She didn't notice Damon calling out to follow him, nor did she notice him wander off towards himself, of all people. She was too busy pondering her own situation; a lone, powerless human girl stuck in the middle of the end of the world - Armageddon, Ragnarok, the Kalki Yuga - whatever any culture wanted to call it. All she had was a sturdy staff and a sense of hopelessness trying to overwhelm her typically brassy attitude.

'Tis th' end of the world. Can't fight it. Th' gods themselves haven't th' power t' stop it. Th' gods themselves are dead.

Brown hands gripped shining red wood tightly as this realization finally hit home, and Karuka's head bowed under a sense of crushing despair. The gods themselves were dead and powerless. And with the dead and rotting walking the night and attacking frightened people, it seemed that the true power here was not in the hands of the living, nor of any power that wanted to call itself godly. The night belonged to Death and Death alone.

Chaos reigned as Death's mad jester, dancing on the bodies of Karuka's childhood gods - gods that couldn't even protect the order they'd set up since time immemorial.

"So damn 'em."

The words came out with a vehemence that startled even her. But how often had she been able to pull herself through? How often had her gods really intervened for her? She couldn't recall a single instance.

"So damn them," she said with a sudden clarity drowning out all but the very last of her Irish lilt. "Damn them and let us all die."

Hefting her staff once more, Karuka started walking forward, into the swarm of damned creatures. She was damned. They were damned. They were all damned; it was Ragnarok. And she was going to go down faithless and fighting.

"Let us all die, and the universe with us! Let it turn to ASH, and let it be reborn godless!"

>>>And even the gods are to die.<<<

>>>It's the end of the world. Can't fight it. The gods themselves haven't the power to fight it. The gods themselves are dead.<<<

"So damn them."

[Call me J]

All of a sudden, Jame’s body began to tingle. He wasn’t sure if it was an adrenaline rush or just pure fear, but blood was coursing through his veins at a rate that he never would have imagined before. Every nerve in his body was pulsing, every thought in his brain was exploding, and all he could do was listen to the instincts that compelled him. They let him act quickly, and quickness was the only thing keeping Jame alive.

“YOU stay here!” Jame shot back at Damon, but it was too late. The general had given his order, and expected it to be followed. However, Jame was never one to listen, not that he would have with his life on the line. With the dull roars of undead surrounding him and the howling cries of banshees in the air above him, Jame couldn’t help but feel compelled to run after Damon. He did so swinging wildly, paying little attention to where Damon or he were headed.

The undead, surprisingly, seemed to care little for Jame. Perhaps it was that he was out of his time that scared away the undead, or the dark magic that was destroying the universe had soaked into him to the point that the zombies mistook him for one of them, perhaps it was just random luck, Jame barely noticed it as he swung wildly at any creature in his direction. The undead, however, were practically parting the way, and it was fortunate for Jame. The way that fear was coursing through his body, he would have had little chance to survive otherwise.

Suddenly, Jame stumbled and hit the ground hard. Jame cringed, not because of the fall, but because of the smell of the ground beneath him. There was dirt, but it was practically covered in a layer of old blood, dried up on the ground and stagnant. Jame could feel its taste in his mouth and nostrils now, and it felt too scarily real. The boy panicked, first afraid that it was his blood, before coming to the realization he’d fallen because of his own clumsy feet. His body vibrated with panic, as Jame sensed the undead had changed their plans, and with a terrified look, Jame looked up to see a sinister creature looking towards him, waving a battered flamberge like a wand. The creature held the weapon in both hands, blade pointed downward like an execution. Jame shuddered, wondering if there was somewhere he could roll out of the way for time, but he was practically being trampled upon by the zombies that were madly rushing after the chariot.

A fiery cocktail thrown from the chariot suddenly landed, hitting Jame’s almost executioner squarely on the temple. Dumbfounded by his luck, Jame had barely managed reaction when the creature fell down right beside him. With zombies practically moving over him, Jame wondered how this creature was so different. It carried a weapon, and seemed to have more of a mind than the zombies running madly for the chariot and its contents.

“AAAACH!!!” Jame screamed, his thoughts punctuated by the foot of a zombie on his back. He wondered if he was now in the end of the world, and this was some kind of rapture that he was going to have to fight his way out of. “Perhaps the chariot is salvation,” he thought, suddenly thinking beyond mere momentary survival.

With that, Jame grabbed the corrupted elf’s flamberge, picked himself up and then began waving it madly as he moved towards the chariot. As he grew closer, he could see that Damon was caught up now in fighting someone who looked exactly like a younger version of the general.

[INDK]

Damon was barely aware that anyone was following him. The retired general, frustrated by his failures, moved with the kind of purpose that had been alien to him for far too long. Now, once again, every movement he made was towards a supreme sacrifice, the flame that burned in his heart had risen to the point it was prepared to engulf his entire body in fire. He muttered a few incantations he had learned over the years to keep the zombies from his path, and with a surprising burst of athleticism, leapt from a running pounce right into the chariot, barely needing his arm to pull him up to make the distance.

It was only when he landed with a thud did Damon realize he had practically jumped up eight feet into the air. His past self now stared at him, dumbstruck, as did the others in the chariot. A last molotov cocktail was thrown, and then there was dead silence.

“I- you- what…” the younger Damon spoke, somehow conscious of the fact that with all the years separating the two Damons, the same soul lived within them.

The older Damon shook his head. “Sshhh…” he whispered, forgetting for a moment that he had never liked being asked to be quiet.

Because of the indescribable gravity of the situation, the younger Damon complied. Tears began to well in the eyes of the retired general as he saw his predecessor, the younger Damon who had known so much pain, but yet pined so desperately to transcend it all. It would not be until later that he would discover that evil was just other people.

There was silence in the chariot for a moment too long. The older Damon knew exactly what he had to do, but as he fumbled around for an appropriate weapon, he couldn’t help but think about everything that was going on. His eyes welling with tears, he glanced at Hazaar for a moment. Despite himself, the grizzled veteran wondered if the boy would reach the Schools of Magic after all. Deeply, Damon exhaled. He had no choice but for his legacy to be the good left undone.

“You have to listen…” the old veteran said, with a voice that was as calm as he could muster. “It’s time to save the world.”

“I- I- have to save the boy…” the younger Damon muttered, very much confused by the entire scenario. “This child… he’s the future…”

Suddenly, it was as if the entire battle had slowed to a still. The zombies were having much more success now that the younger Damon was occupied, and they began to rock at the chariot, hoping to make its contents spill. However, neither Damon could feel it.

“The future was destroyed, you- I… WE destroyed it,” the older Damon replied. He looked in his hand to see that his favorite weapon had been in his hands all along. It was fitting. “I have to do this- to set things right.”

The younger Damon nodded. There seemed to be an unspoken bond between the two Damons, almost as if the rifts in the universe had spilled a new understanding into the petulant young slayer.

With a sickening thud, the fateful blow was delivered. The only Damon left standing suddenly began to feel his body dissipating in a warm, but reassuring, white light.

[Karuka]

The end of time has come now
And you are at its center,
The giants have killed all the gods,
There'll be eternal winter.

Karuka didn't notice Jame and Damon making their way off; they could meet their ends however they best pleased. Her runes were now useless, she was beyond the help of the gods that lent their power to the little clay tablets. All she had to her name was a powerful anger that the world was damned after she had worked so hard to try and save it, and a sense of resignation to her fate.

Karuka Tida hadn't feared death since her mother had died, and since the day she'd come to Althanas, she had been through so much battle and stared death in the face so many times that it didn't even hold mystery anymore. She didn't have regrets; she'd taken what she could out of life, and she was determined to die in a blaze of glory, taking as many of the damned abominable creatures down to the icy plains of Hel with her.

Tell a tale of fire,
One final burst of light;
The whole world is your pyre
As starts never-ending night.

As she made her way forward, rage coursing hot through Celtic blood, the zombies swarmed upon her, seeking to gain whatever vile sustenance they could from her living force, from her blood, her flesh, her very soul. But she wasn't going to take that; she wasn't about to die without a fight.

A freshly fallen Elf had jars of oil topped with cloth wrapped around his waist, and in his hand was a flint and steel striker. In the style of the dying hero Damon Kaosi, many of the Elves had started throwing flaming grenades of their own, and it seemed the best deterrent to the undead creatures. Why not? In her experiences with lighting things on fire, it worked on almost everything but stone.

Gripping her staff tightly, Karuka battled her way ever closer to the Elf, each swing battering the vile creations as they sought to consume her and turn her into part of their horde. She might not have much skill with her staff, but it was enough to beat the slow mob that had only food on its mind. Even reaching down to get the jars of oil and the striker would have been suicide, save that there were still three living Elves battling in the midst of the horde.

As she reached them, covered with the ichor of their enemies, the exhausted Elves welcomed her aide with brief glances, even if a new face was merely a small boost to morale in the face of such certain damnation. They gave her the protection she needed to grab the oil grenades and striker, and as she straightened up, lighting one, she let out a blood-curdling war cry, the Berserker's blood of her grandfather coming out in force for the first time in her life.

Scream out, little lost child,
Battle like a storm.
Living blood dost rage wild
As the world doth lose its form.

[Call me J]

As Damon was engulfed within the white light, Jame reached out towards it desperately. He had managed to climb up into the chariot despite all the zombies around him, and with his entire body shaking in terror and anticipation, Jame stuck his hand into the white light.

Suddenly, Jame’s entire body began to glow all over, his skin twinged and hissed as if it was being fried. His muscles twitched and changed, knotting up within themselves, expanding. His wings had begun to shrink. However, the young half dragon felt no pain. He had no knowledge of what was happening to him. While it looked like he was burning, Jame felt as though comfort itself had wrapped him up in a warm blanket. He had practically fallen asleep when he found himself back in Pelegrino Island, in a different time and age.

Damon was standing beside him. The two were translucent and incorporeal. It was simultaneously awesome and humbling. Jame looked at his hands and reached out to touch Damon, but he couldn’t. Damon was considerably different. The former Raiaeran general had become as old as his soul. Damon’s jet black hair was now a peppery gray, his skin was wrinkled, and while the veteran soldier stood up with all the dignity that could be expected, even Jame could sense it took a good amount more of Damon’s faculty than it should have.

“What… what’s happened…?” Jame asked, dumbfounded. He wondered if he’d become a spirit, if the white light had led him to heaven. The transformation, as strange and scary as it had been, had left him feeling light, feeling strong, but now, he was confused.

There was nothing about the room that made Jame feel like he’d been returned to heaven. He was not only back in Surat, he was back in his old family home. He could see his mother lying in a bed, panting heavily, and the town doctor and midwife standing over her. Jame’s grandfather was wiping down her forehead. Warily, Jame looked on. Was this where he’d been born, he’d had no brothers or sisters, and since his family had moved from Surat, there would have been no other child. “Why here?” he thought confusedly, “Why now?”

Jame was suddenly confused again. He looked back towards Damon, who seemed to be paying rapt attention to the birth. The young half dragon thought he heard Damon mouth the word “Genevieve…,” the name of his mother.
Seconds later, Jame was born. His mother collapsed back in relief. Glad to be finished with the ordeal, she clutched her father’s hand appreciatively.

“Should we tell Damon?” the grandfather asked.

“No,” Genevieve replied with a tired, but happy sigh. “He has enough other things to worry about…”

“But this is his child,” the grandfather replied. “He has a right to know.”

Genevieve only smiled lightly before cradling her newborn son in her arms. “And he’ll know when it’s proper…” she said. “As for now, there’s time enough… we’ll be together again in the hands of God…”

Jame had been rendered speechless. Not only could his mouth not muster words, his brain itself was blank.

[INDK]

It took Damon a bit longer to figure out what was going on. His ears had perked at the mention of his name, and the idea that he had a son had overwhelmed him with so much joy that he could have cared less that the man standing next to him was his progeny. His entire body shook with excitement as he turned to look at Jame. This was a different Jame than the one that had been with him in Eluriand. Jame was older, he was also translucent and incorporeal, but Damon was shocked by how the boy had suddenly become so much older.

Unsure of whether he was looking at the real Jame or a glimpse of the future, Damon could barely keep himself from crying as his eyes welled with tears. He was overthrown with emotion. He had a child, but he’d killed himself in the past. Did that mean his child would no longer exist in time? Had he killed Jame along with killing himself? Did anything he’d done in Eluriand make a difference to the universe, or had he just destroyed the family he’d always wanted?

With all these unanswered questions swimming in his head, Damon turned to Jame. “I have a son,” he said, as if not believing it. “And its you… you’re Genevieve’s kid… muh-muh-my son!” Forgetting that he was incorporeal, Damon reached out to hug his boy, only to stagger into nothingness.

“I’m sorry about the world I’ve given you,” Damon said as got back onto his feet, more overwhelmed with emotion than embarrassed by his gaffe. “I- I can’t make things better… but I wanted to. I wanted to for you.”

Damon wasn’t sure if Jame was listening, or if he even cared. They were two generations standing together, unsure as to whether or not they were at the brink of oblivion. For a moment, however, none of that mattered to Damon. He had never been present at the birth of his son, but somehow the powers that ruled the universe had conspired to give him this second chance. It was just a shame that he didn’t deserve it.

For one brief moment, Damon wondered if everything he had done was worthwhile, if only to realize how his son had grown. It was only a fleeting moment, but it was a brief bit of comfort at the end of the world.

“Maybe I’m just in heaven,” Damon muttered. He smiled, it was an uneasy smile, but a smile none the less.”

It was the first real smile he’d smiled in ages.

The veteran barely cared that suddenly, everything around him was fading to black.

[Karuka]

The fact that she had suddenly been dropped in the middle of Ragnarok and was fighting for her very survival didn't stop the damage done from continuing to enforce itself upon reality. The end of world myths she'd grown up with had merely told of titantic battles and fairly vague destruction. What it really was was a tale of life turning to death and order turning into chaos.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. The grenade she threw tumbled toward a clutch of corrupted Elves as though it was sinking through water. The explosion it made as it hit the necrotic bodies rippled gently, consuming them and sending a pungent blast washing over her, carrying the oily, nauseating scent of rotten, burning flesh.

Buildings and people seemed poorly defined, losing their individuality and fading into each other like chalk drawings did in a rain storm. Colors distorted, one color blurring to another and back. Whole patches of the world started fading abruptly to black, disappearing and not becoming real again.

Finally, all that was left were her and the three Elves that had been fighting alongside her, nothing left but the black void and a speck of light from the final, burning grenade. They turned and looked at each other, themselves fading away, too. Weary, begrimed faces looked at each other in a final grim horror as one by one, they faded. The grenade in Karuka's hand disintegrated until it was gone, and she was left in utter darkness...and she could feel herself slowly starting to fade to nothing.

At the last instant, a white light washed over her, pulling her back from the brink of non-existence, and she stood in a blank field of vast, cold nothingness, almost as though the universe were caught in the cold aftermath of an intense blizzard. All around her, she could feel...something. It was almost as though people...or "entities" were watching her, but she couldn't see them.

"Hello? Where are you? Is anyone there?"

Her own voice sounded strange to her without the accent that had followed her everywhere, her sole constant and faithful companion. She'd struggled so hard to keep it, to make sure she had at least that to remind her of who she was and where she was from. What was she without at least that?

What was she now that the faith that had driven her to keep trying had been murdered along with the universe and the gods that had created it? She was nothing, there was nothing. And though she was surrounded by light, it was a very dark feeling.

[Call me J]

(bunny approved)

Shortly after Karuka appeared in the blackness, she was joined by both Damon and Jame. Jame wondered if now that he’d been to heaven if he was to be subjected to hell. He didn’t say anything, but he managed a slight smile for Damon, more out of politeness than out of any genuine emotion. He felt quite uncomfortable, almost as if he had been placed in an outfit that was two sizes too big. Everything about the blackness seemed empty, but there seemed to be a force within it, an ineffable quality that kept the entirety of the universe hanging together. It was as if he was standing upon the fingertips of a God.

Surprised at himself, Jame gulped. He could see that Karuka was back with him. He was corporeal gain, but his body had changed. He could tell he was older. The wings in his back were gone, and he could feel his heart beating through a considerably more muscular body. He had no idea why he had changed, but given all the other uncertainties, his physical appearance was among the least of his worries.

“HELLOOOOOO…” he shouted, hoping someone would hear him and answer his questions. Jame doubted that either Karuka or Damon knew something he didn’t. They had all been panicking and afraid at the destruction of the universe. It was something that they couldn’t have planned.

For a moment, Jame wondered if he shouldn’t have disobeyed his mother and not have come. He wondered if she’d wanted him to find out Damon was his father. Or perhaps she had just wanted Damon to know that he was his son. Either way, Jame couldn’t help but feel that he would have rather never known about his father if it had saved him from being caught up in the end of the universe.

Suddenly, the surroundings began to change again. However, this time, nothing was fading. Things were coming in to existence, bursting into matter like the dawn of existence. There was a strange excitement surrounding the room, and inexplicably, Jame let out a laugh.

The entire setting was surreal. The walls had turned a stained mahogany color, an elaborate woven rug appeared beneath Jame’s feet. A large, dignified chair appeared in front of Jame, with three small chairs placed behind him. A large bookcase appeared to the left, and an elaborately carved clock appeared to the right. It was as if Jame had been transplanted into the study of an Alerian noble or scientist.

“What… where are we?” he asked, hoping somehow Damon would have an answer to this question. “What does this have to do with anything?”

Of all the things he’d expected in either heaven or hell, Jame had never considered the possibility it resembled a scientists’ office. The room was too gentle, too staid for the end of the universe. There was something so incredibly proper about it that didn’t fit the ordeal that he had been through.

It was the contradiction brought out from the universe’s enduring commitment to symmetry.

“Is this hell?” Jame asked, dumbfounded. “Where you go if you destroy the universe?”

Suddenly, a thin man dressed in black appeared in the regal chair in front of him. The stranger sat coolly. He was dressed smartly, in slacks and a silk shirt. With a wry smile, he took a sip from a drink that had appeared suddenly in his hand. “Well Jame Whitizard, if the universe were destroyed, would there really be a hell?”

Jame didn’t know how to reply. The appearance of the man was strange enough, let alone the question.

The man clad in black laughed. “It’s a real mindfuck… now isn’t it?”

[INDK]

Damon was surprisingly calm. He had dealt with the ethereal before, and this didn’t feel all that much different. Instead, it brought the veteran a sudden bit of closure. The appearance of a higher being, either good or evil, meant the universe had returned to hands greater than his. Whatever the fate of the universe now, it would not be only in his hands.

“I thought you had forsaken me…” Damon mumbled. He looked on the man in black with genuine gratitude.

The man in black’s face turned stern. “General Damon Kaosi,” he said. “Of all people… you should know that we’d never abandon you. You should have also known that the Universe intends to fold according to its own plan. You may have been reborn without fate, but you should have known better. War needs to happen.”

“B-b-but why?” Damon asked. “What good has ever come from war? Especially wars of brothers…”

“Nothing,” the man replied. “But what good comes from carving statues, fornicating with others, from drinking ale?”

Damon let out a melancholy smile. Everything he had done had been in vain. The universe would never have allowed him to succeed.

“However, you certainly did surprise us,” the man in black continued. “We expected you to fail spectacularly, but we didn’t expect you to destroy the fabric of time. It seemed we truly did underestimate you, Damon Kaosi. But this would have hardly been the first time someone has made that mistake, now would it?”

Perhaps sensing the confusion emerging from the other two, the man in black shot a smile in their direction. “Everything is fine,” he said, looking at Jame with a smile that seemed genuinely amused. “You’ll be returned to your world, no worse for your experience…”

“But General Kaosi…” the man continued. “Your adventure caused us a bit of trouble. Destroying the world was something we could have coped with, but using the destruction of the world to save the world by creating a time paradox became far too complicated. We had to restore the world to its natural form, when we return you back to Althanas, both you and Jame Whitizard will be going back to Raiaera. Miss Karuka Tida will be going somewhere more appropriate for her. No one will know of this little adventure other than you, and of course, us.”

Damon nodded. “I am old now,” he said. He could feel how feeble he had become ever since he’d slain his past self. “Will I be young again?”

“No,” the man in black said. “Neither will you, Jame. We have to obey the laws of the universe as well… a price had to be paid. Damon, you were going to pay it, but Jame just got caught up in it. It’s unfortunate, but you’ll see. The plans of the universe have been rewritten to fit your new roles. Damon, you will return back to Althanas tied to fate once more. You’re a bit too dangerous as a truly free agent.”

Damon didn’t say anything. The idea of suddenly becoming old had just hit him. He looked at Jame. They genuinely looked like father and son now. He was an elderly man, and Jame looked to be somewhere in his mid twenties, if human years were the correct measure.

“All three of you will find that you are equipped to deal with your new roles…” the man in black said. “And with that, I plan to leave. Unless, of course, there are any questions.

The man finished his drink and folded his legs over each other in anticipation. There was a benign, but mischievous smile on his face.

[Karuka]

"Who are you?"

The question popped out of Karuka's mouth before she could consider the nature of the entity to whom she spoke. There were just questions, so many questions that she couldn't begin to fathom them all.

"Has Ragnarok been undone? What...why...?" Her words faltered, and the questions that teemed so rapidly in her mind would not form on her tongue.

The man's smile merely grew.

"We merely keep the stage together, and occasionally re-tie the strings. For your other questions, Miss Karuka Tida...you must answer those yourself. Good luck."

The cozy chamber with its shelves and carpets faded away into black, and the next thing Karuka knew, she was standing by a still pool of water not far from a burnt out shed. On a nearby tree was an ogam she had carved when she'd been asked to take care of the corpse of Tarry Whealer. The clearing was absolutely calm, and Karuka didn't know why she was there at all, merely that she was close to Radasanth, and very far from Eluriand.

Reaching into her rune pouch, she pulled out a trio, looking down at them. She just wanted an answer as to why, but even as she looked on their familiar faces and tried to piece their meanings together, she found that she couldn't. She knew their names, but their meanings felt as abstract as they had the very first time she'd seen their faces.

She drew again, then once more, and no time could she make sense of the runes.

A sense of dread fell upon her. Maybe the gods were dead. She'd been promised before that she would never be abandoned, but since when had there been a promise to her that had been kept? Never.

Sighing, she took off her pendulum, trying to find the way she was supposed to go next, but it merely swung back and forth lazily, in no particular direction. She shook it, but it still lacked direction, and with a heavy heart, she put it back around her neck and walked to the calm river to wash her face.

The cool water felt refreshing after all the fighting that had gone on, after all the running and the terror, and she lifted more to her mouth to drink, but dropped it as she looked at her reflection in a puddle.

The red mark that had identified her as her father's daughter and protected by Shiva had vanished, leaving her forehead completely clear. Her father had told her when he marked her that as long as she accepted him as one of her gods, the mark would remain.

It was gone, and she was forsaken. She had no more use of her runes, her pendulum...and nothing tying her to her gods. She was merely a young woman, homeless, friendless, with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. Althanas hadn't taken her fully into its bosom, Ireland had abandoned her, and India had prohibited her from coming to it.

She was nothing and no one, had always been nothing and no one, and that fact finally sunk into her. There was no longer blind faith to support her, no direction to go. She was just an orphan without a country, and what need had such a child for an accent?

She reached down to touch her reflection in the water, trying to come to terms with a lack of faith and finding herself foundering. But there was no going back. It was no use to believe in gods that she knew were dead.

Who am I? Where...do I belong?

Thanks for the fun thread!

Spoils: Karuka loses her divining abilities, both pendulum and runic, as well as her ability to cast rune spells.

Karuka gains the flint striker she took from the dead Elf and the compass-style guide that she was given by Tura Preylor. It can locate and guide her to any one ally within a ten mile radius.