God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. Yet his shadow still looms. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?
—Nietzsche
—Nietzsche
There was a flash of silver light, a brilliant spear appearing in Haresuno's hand. In a blur of confusion, suddenly, Sayis was there, and with a clank, he had used one of the hooked blades to catch the chain of the last of Theron's scythes.
"What are you--!?" Haresuno shouted, peering over the edge. Theron dangled from the chain, lifeless or unconscious.
Sayis took stock of the situation, noting the grievous wounds on all four of them, all five of them. It was too late to stop his gut reaction, though. As he and Haresuno peered downward, Theron's mask crumbled completely, falling to the pits below. A black flame burst from that crumbling mask, seeming to form into two objects that fell down to the volcano below.
Deciding quickly, Sayis ordered, "Pull him in!"
Below them, the twin pinpoints of black conflagration bubbled away as they were consumed by waves of molten rock. It seemed as though the ordeal was over. The husk of the twenty-third scion notwithstanding, any traces of the Dread Lord's madness had been washed away by the burning heart of Fujiyama.
Still, the battle had taken its toll. Despite the Founder captain's best efforts, no one could hope to forestall the mountain's fury any longer. Gouts of fire spat fourth from the myriad of cracks forming around the caldera, the mountain letting out a thunderous roar. The ground quaked beneath the weakened captains as they scrambled to retrieve the former Kenpachi. Another vicious tremor rocked the mountain, sending the bloodied vizard sliding ever closer to the magma pits below.
The mountain would erupt at any moment. Not the might of the captains, nor the vizard, or even the soutaichou could hope to halt the inevitable fusillade. Slowly, the pools of molten rock began to bubble upward, skirting the downtrodden Shinigami on all sides.
In trying to save the vizard, they had doomed themselves.
But one remained who could live to fight another day. Sayis grimaced inwardly as the realization dawned on him. Were they to abandon Ascania to his fate, the soutaichou may have been able to extricate his fallen comrades. Doing so however, would forsake not only the former Kenpachi, but also the lives of the thousands of humans living below. However, were he to attempt to rescue the ill-fated souls that lined the mountain's banks, his comrades would surely perish. Those who had put their lives on the line for him, who had fought tooth and nail to defeat the final scion, who had trusted in him...
One by one, the commander's gaze met those of his fellow captains. Surely, they knew as well as he did how dire their situation had become.
He had to make a choice, here and now.
White-knuckled fists clenched Karino Yadori no Kamayari. It was now or never.
The volcano rumbled and quaked, roaring its death throes as the pressure beneath its surface finally built to a head. With a final, almighty crack, the ground beneath the shinigami split open. This was it.
However from the fissures issued not magma, but steam; a thick blanket of ivory fog filling the caldera.
Where was the fire? Where was the heat?
The few captains who could still see each other through the haze cast confused glances at one another. Beneath them, the rumbling began to subside. The glowing scars that etched their way through the mountain crater sputtered and died, exuding wisps of white steam as they rapidly cooled -- until the whole of the caldera was nothing but a solid, blackened mass.
It was either a miracle or the most improbable stroke of luck. A few cries of surprise and merriment could be heard from within the fog. Perhaps fate was on their side after all.
A sudden pulse of reiatsu pulled the captains from their brief celebration. Beneath them, the mountain once again began to stir. This time, however, something was different.
Those closest to the center felt it first. The aura of dread crawling up their spines, the feeling of imminent doom. Every fibre of their beings screamed at them to flee.
But it was already too late.
With an almighty boom, a rolling conflagration of midnight flame tore through the crater, displacing the pale fog and giving the captains a clear view of their reckoning.
In the heart of the caldera stood a lone figure, arms bound tightly to its body by pale wrappings. Piercing yellow eyes stared mockingly at the felled captains. Around the creatures neck hung a morose lantern; human bones scorched black by the ethereal flame at its heart. There was no mistaking the beasts identity or its purpose.
Prometheus had arrived on Earth.
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