The Scramble [Complete]

[Magus]

He listened to the grinning devil tell his tale, but only because some ethereal force prevented him from taking any other options. The charlatan who called himself Omni blathered on while Magus seemingly floated, frozen in the black and empty nothing he found himself in.

For a moment, he contemplated that perhaps this was the true form of the Destroyer of Worlds. That Lavos referred to itself as Omni.

But he knew it impossible. Lavos was cold, its rationale on a level far and away beyond Omni’s motivations. It… perceived things on a level wholly different from anything he had ever experienced. Though he hunted it for decades, he hadn’t expected such a complete omniscience of the creature.

It shook him. He watched it die and he couldn’t get it out of his mind that Omni was somehow a part of it. It couldn’t have been. Unless sustenance wasn’t the only reason the world was to be consumed. What if it was also to gather the energy to create this place?

He shelved the thought. No, this place felt alien, but in no way like Lavos. He took a breath and braced himself as the blackness fell away to stark, white nothingness, and the ground seemed to rush up to meet him.

Despite the harrowing speed, his feet touched down with the gentlest touch, and Magus got his first sight of something other than endless oblivion since he had been snatched up by this place’s supposed creator, and immediately felt as though he had somehow returned to the End of Time.

He stood on an enormous, pristine terrace of shining white stone reminiscent of a scene from antiquity. At the epicenter towered an ornate fountain made from rough, white stone and adorned with nearly a dozen intricate statues, as well as the façade of a grand Greek or Roman building behind it.

His mouth slightly parted, and his eyes widened the tiniest bit with astonishment. Not just at the intricacy of the fountain, but at its juxtaposition against a backdrop of endless, white, nothingness. The terrace was bordered with beautiful marble guardrails, and immediately beyond there was nothing but oblivion.

And it was beautiful and terrible at the same time. A creeping revulsion spread over him, and still he felt somehow compelled to touch one of the fountain’s statues. Even through his glove, he could feel the buzzing of some awesome energy, and it made him pull his hand away fast.

He tugged on the cuff of his glove, flexing his fingers open and then closed them into a fist. He repeated the action a few times out of habit, studying the fountain, and taking a sharp step back as the surface of the statue began to literally transform directly at the spot he’d touched it.

A tiny, black splotch appeared, and began to spread, and Magus was immediately aware that not only was the color different, but the material and craftsmanship was different as well. Try as he might, he sensed no magic at work.

“Impossible,” he breathed, watching as the blackness spread. As it did so, parts of the scene, including the façade, simply slid into the ground, solid stone vanishing away as water disappearing into soil, as other sections rose up out of the ground to replace them, also of the dark material.

The transformation spread further out as well, creeping toward him. He took three steps back but it spread beneath his feet and beyond him, up upon the guardrails, consuming all of it.

Soon, the entire scene at the fountain had become a much more Gothic-inspired affair, with a more traditional fountain at the middle, composed of four concentric bowls, each above the other, for a layered cascading effect.

It was incredible. If this Omni has simply created this, what else had he done?

Magus turned away from the fountain and immediately spotted people milling about not fifty feet away. He frowned; the fountain shouldn’t have distracted him from his surroundings. He wondered how long they’d been there as he swept his eyes over them.

There appeared to be two groups, who, judging by their states of dress, were vastly different from one another. On one side, a man sat in a comfortable-looking wingback chair, accompanied by what appeared to be armed guards wearing exotic, full-face armor. The man in the chair was dressed in robes reminiscent of his home. The apparently high technology his guards were equipped with strengthened that notion.

The group opposite them seemed much more akin to those of the time he’d spent most of his life trapped in; they were primitive, clad in metal armors and wielded swords. A monstrous, vulgar-looking green creature sat directly across the man in the chair, and appeared to be in charge of the medieval warriors who lingered nearby.

Twelve people, in all,

Magus sensed the animosity between them, especially between the grizzled, one-eyed man and the green creature. He made a quiet grunt as he noticed the similarities between the creature and the Mystics from his own world. Perhaps this thing was a Mystic. Perhaps he’d be swayed by Magus’ power.

Regardless, with nowhere else to go, he strode confidently toward them, careful to walk directly toward the center of the divide between the two parties in order to prevent an accidental show of deference to either group.

Once he was about thirty feet from either group, he stopped, opening and closing his fists and clearing his thoughts. His cape began to flutter behind him despite the absolute stillness of the air in this place.

“Welcome here,” the cyclops greeted, rising from his chair to stand bolt upright, facing Magus. The man wore a military uniform and was obviously well-decorated. A commander who had actually seen battle was always the most dangerous kind. Magus noted this, and began to reply when the massive, armored green man climbed to his feet and turned toward him, rolling both hulking shoulders and tilting his head to the side, cracking the vertebrae.