Exodus

[Tearen Wover]

Well. This was an unpleasant surprise.

Of all the people that Nealaphh had recruited to the cause of the Omniverse Institute, Demetri had seemed like the most willing to put time and effort into achieving the grand visions therein. Well...perhaps Okor would have this sort of vindication too, but Nealaphh had not heard from or of the Plague Marine for several days now. Longer, at least, than an exile in the Astral Verse requires after being killed. Perhaps it would merit investigation once things had become more stable. The God-Mind palmed the satchel of coins in its hand pensively as it watched the thief venture away from the rendevouz point. It would not normally physically hold something if it could be avoided, but the God-Mind was troubled enough that this...residual creature comfort gave it a respite from the furious thoughts storming across its infinite consciousness.

The next step, of course, would wait to see if anyone else showed up. Nealaphh had a feeling that there might be more, but given that Victor had been killed and would take three days to resurrect, waiting around indefinitely for hypothetical refugees just did not seem like a productive use of time. No; Nealaphh was done being dashed against the rocks of fate by the equally relentless tides of fortune. Many of the puzzle pieces to Nealaphh's first major victory in the Omniverse were settling into place. Time was of the essence, because this accursed dimensional penitentiary was nothing if not fickle in its consistency.

Nealaphh rose to its feet, the setting sun sending beams of carmine light bouncing off of the God-Mind's mineral body. Tom watched in silence as the shadow went about summoning its iconic robe, as well as something that was...more difficult to identify. Whatever it was that Nealaphh was making, the Enigma was weaving its structure together from the sands of the desert itself, cauterizing the various silicate minerals into a solid black glass that was not entirely unlike Nealaphh's own body. The wizard watched in rapt interest as various unknowable components were fitted together in part both by Omnilium and by the God-Mind's own deft mastery of the telekinetic arts.

"...and what is this contraption going to be?" Tom asked, stepping slowly around the manifesting machine...if it could truly be called such. From what little that Tom knew about muggle engineering, the shapes and angles did not seem to be structurally sound. The God-Mind was silent for a few moments more before finally lowering its hand, droplets of rainbow scintillation evaporating into the cool dusk air.

Transport.

And indeed it was. The entire vessel seemed to resemble a sort of chariot, though it had no runners by which to hitch a beast of burden. Its form was angular and singularly geometric, and a pyramidal canopy stretched over the platform on which Tom could only assume to be the passenger space. How it propelled itself or steered was a complete mystery, but Mr. Riddle had come to expect this sort of thing from Nealaphh.

Let us depart this arid nadir of progress and make way to the damp zenith that is the Moors. After carrefully considering your offer, I have come to conclude that an arcane approach to the Gigaton Hammer would be best after all. After you.

Nealaphh gestured to the central platform of the chariot, where Tom, with some admitted sense of anticipation boarded. The God-Mind followed close behind, moving in behind the wizard as the canopy noiselessly sealed itself over their heads. There seemed to be a sort of bench grafted into the rear of the ship, so Tom opted to make himself comfortable.

Nealaphh, on the other hand, had a different plan of action. Once Tom had safely taken his seat, the Enigma abruptly began to dissolve into a thick black smog that sank down around the wizard's feet and was subsequently siphoned into what Tom now understood to be vents. A moment passed, and all of a sudden, the Chariot thrummed to life.

Swirling green leylines of power traced themselves across the greater surfaces of the vehicle, and the black glass that formed the canopy now turned transparent to offer a panoramic view to its sole occupant. The connection between Nealaphh and the machine was evident, in that the recurring thumps of whatever mechanisms churned within this obsidian hull had the double drumming of a heartbeat. This was more than some crude machine; it was alive, and its soul was Nealaphh. With no further fanfare, the Chariot lifted swiftly into the air and rocketed forwards, honestly catching Tom off guard as the acceleration was greater than even the most deft of flying brooms.

Mr. Riddle peered out the pane of glass behind him and watched the copper desert sands whip past like a receding sheet of surf. A question presented itself, at least, a question more pressing than the litany of other inquiries that the wizard's mind craved to have answered.

"Impressive. But why didn't we travel in this fashion the first time?"

There was silence for almost a minute, and just when Tom was beginning to suspect that Nealaphh might not be able to communicate while bonded to this craft, a small tittering of words flitted across his awareness.

I am now confident in my decision to like you.