Tales of Argos Volume 1

The Tales of Argos Volume 1 is a collection of all 5 parts of the *Cataclysm: Rage and Thunder* series. The story follows a conflict between Thurunor, the Titan of Storms & Atreates, the former Titan of War now corrupted by Chaos. This series was gradually released over the course of a year during the initial run of the Present Campaign,

## *Cataclysm: Rage and Thunder* Part I

Red and violet lightning cascaded across the blackened sky as dark, winged creatures flew far above. They were denizens of a vile, chaotic hellscape. A once beautiful, skylined paradise was now a violent battleground where its people and their guardians fight for their very existence against monsters. For many of his brothers and sisters, it brought tears to their immortal eyes. For Thurunor, however, it fueled his unstoppable fury.

A giant among men, Thurunor stood at the center of what was once a gorgeous city square, his eyes working in tandem with his memory to reassemble what it used to be. To the people of the world, he was a god; three times the size of any man with the energy of the cosmos running through his veins. To others like him, he was no god, but a celestial being of immense power. A protector of mortals. A Titan. Thurunor could almost feel the summer air on his tanned skin, the breeze on his bleach white beard, and the sounds of thousands knowing nothing but peace. A low guttural growl off in the distance dragged him back to the present. The Titan’s rage boiled.

The growl came from a creature whose body had a humanoid shape, but walked on furred, goat-like feet. Its head looked like that of a man, but had a horrific elongated skull. Its face was skeletal, as if the skin had been stretched too tight over the skull. Two horns stuck out from either side of its head where pupiless violet glowing eyes glared unblinkingly at the Titan. A long lizard-like tail thrashed between its legs. It wore no armor, but wielded a long crooked blade that left a hazy trace of arcane energy in the air. The creature stood at nine feet, maybe more; more than half the size of the Titan himself. The creature looked strong, a demon from the Plains of Chaos. It let out a nasty maniacal cackle and spoke in a low breathy tone that chilled the air.

“My, my. The Lord of Storms himself. It isn’t often one gets the honor of fighting against a weapon such as the one you wield.” It continued to stride into the square while mocking him. Thurunor’s eye’s tracked his every movement. He calmly, but sternly, raised his arm until his palm was level with the demon's chest.

“You are not worthy of my blade.” Said Thurunor in a low booming voice. A thrashing orb of crackling blue energy formed in his palm and a monstrous bolt of lighting shot straight from the orb, striking out towards the creature. An unholy wail emanated from the demon as the sheer power of the bolt lit up the square. The titan’s eyes didn’t blink once. He lowered his hand and the energy dissipated. All that was left of the creature was a smoking pile of ash. Its mortal body was destroyed and soul returned from whence it came.

“And you are not whom I am here for.” Thurunor stood in the square, his hands resting on the pommel of Torden, the Ax Tempest, while the top of the divine weapon sat on the tiled street. He knew once he ventured this far out into the battlefield alone, the one he searched for wouldn’t be far behind. No, Thurunor knew the one he expected could not pass the opportunity. That is why, despite all who had warned him, the Titan was out here without a single Archon to accompany him. He had to be alone.

“I thought that was you, my brother.” A low , sinister disembodied voice filled the square. Thurunor inhaled deeply. Reddish orange light flickered from the streets beyond, growing brighter with the sound of every heavy armored footstep, as if the flames crawled to follow their master. From the streets of the decimated city came a being far worse than any demon Thurunor would meet out on the battlefield. A creature that by all rights should have been at the heart of the fighting, but was drawn to meet Thurunor’s challenge. He watched as a giant equal in height stepped out into the square, a humanoid shaped monster in thick black armor. Fire spat out from every footstep as reddish orange light shot from gaps in the armor, revealing its molten skin. Atop its fitted helmet was a huge bright red plume of feathers that by divine arcane sorcery bled into a constant flame at the end. Bright yellow eyes sat behind its helm. Where were once circled pupils, now diamond shaped; more sinister and draconic. In its hand was a dark red sword whose edges glowed with orange arcane power. Thurunor knew the blade well. It was a weapon of legend, even among his own kind, for more than a million had fallen before its might. Many times, the Titan had fought beside its wielder. This creature was Atreates, revered as the patron of war. Though now, he was no greater than the demon Thurunor extinguished. For mortals, Atreates was no longer a being of worship. His soul had been claimed by the Dark God for some time. “I see you are no coward afterall, Thurunor.” Atreates spat. It pained Thurunor to hear such venom from the hero he once knew.

“This path that you walk, my friend,” said Thurunor, “will only lead to pain and torment.” Atreates scraped his sword along the tiles of the square. It spewed molten sparks as he strode along.

“Did your father tell you to utter those words to me?” He laughed mockingly. Thurunor stayed still, never flinching, but a humbling sadness began to wash over him.

“I called you here to plead with you. It is not too late to turn back. You can help us end this great conflict, Noros will show you mercy—” Atreates’ laugh cut through his plea, as if no phrase could ever be more foolish.

“You must be as naive as the mortals that inhabit this world if you truly believe He would show me mercy.” The black armored Titan raised a hand to a nearby building and watched the divine heat from his skin slowly melt its very structure. “No…” He said solemnly. “The Ever King would obliterate my very soul if he had the chance. I am just another tool He no longer needs.” Atreates clenched his fist tightly, forcing a large portion of the architecture to burst into flames. The heat was so intense that Thurunor himself almost had to avert his gaze. He gripped Torden’s pommel even tighter. He was never much for words, only actions. He had to try, though. He had to.

“No!” He shouted. The War Titan turned to face him. “I do not know what lies the Dark God has fed you, brother, but you are not a tool. You never were! You and I are His kin and His heart breaks for every one of us that has ever turned away from the Light. We have all been created by divine energies for our own purpose. We are to be Chaos’ destruction!” Atreates ferociously pointed his sword at Thurunor.

“What do you know of purpose?!” Flames erupted from his mouth and eyes. “For millennia we have fought the evils of the cosmos, and we were revered as heroes. If our purpose is peace, then what am I to become? Conflict is my purpose and without Chaos…I am purposeless. If that is not a tool, then I do not know what is. I will serve no one, but the Dark God has shown me a path of my own. I am no tool! I am no one’s puppet!” Atreates plunged his sword into the ground with such force it made the tiles seem as if they were made of paper. A hurricane of fire tore out of every fiber of his being as he screamed into the darkened sky. “I am the God of War!” The sheer power forced Thurunor’s near immovable body back. The flames slowly died as well as his hope of forcing any sense back into his brother’s mind. Thurunor would have tried anything, but perhaps deep down, he already knew Atraetes was gone; twisted by Chaos and wanting nothing more than to fight any and all that would challenge him until the stars themselves wither and die. Thurunor steadied himself once again. He inhaled deeply and raised the Ax Tempest.

“Very well.” He said softly. “If this is truly the only way…” The color of Thurunor’s eyes began to glow bright blue. Arcane static started jolting off his body, growing more and more frequent like the slow start of a downpour. The clouds darkened in the sky above him. With a loud roar of thunder, an unimaginably bright column of blue lightning thrusted itself onto the Lord of Storms with a force that shook the ground beneath their feet and shattered every window in sight. “Then know that I will bring the wrath of the heavens down upon you.” Thurunor tightened his two-handed grip on the blade and readied himself. Atreates’ face cracked into a smile.

## *Cataclysm: Rage and Thunder* Part II

The two Titans stared at each other, neither one wanting to make the first move. Both knew that the other was an incredible warrior and one that would not go down easy. Thurunor tightened his grip on the Ax Tempest and leapt forward. Atreates dashed an instant later to meet him, fire erupting from his titanic strides. Thurunor’s bright blue eyes grew even brighter as a flash of lightning cascaded down on top of him. It would have blinded even the strongest mortal, but Atreates charged ever forward,though to his surprise he found his brother had completely vanished. There was another lightning strike a second later directly in front of him, turning a portion of the square into glass. Atreates’ looked up and his eyes widened.. Out of the bolt came the Lord of Storms, leaping down on top of him with his ax raised high. Thurunor brought his weapon down with a force capable of leveling a mountain; so powerful that the blade lit up bright red from reaping the air around it. Instincts from millennia of fighting brought Atreates’ sword up to meet the blow.

Pure arcana exploded from the force of the blades leaving an ear shattering crackle of thunder in its wake. Weapons of legend colliding with each other in such a way sent hundreds of static particles of reds and blues in every direction, which tore into the surrounding buildings.The earth buckled beneath Atreates’ feet as the unsurmountable shockwave crippled every structure for miles. Despite the power, despite the strength, the God of War still smiled.

Both took turns pushing the other back inches at a time, only for any gained ground to be lost again. That smile made Thurunor angrier and angrier. He quickly angled his ax downward and with a final push of strength swung out, ending their stalemate. Atreates’ spun the sword in his hand and attempted to slice him across the chest only to find Thurunor blinking out of the way; Atreates’ blade finding nothing but a trail of blue static. Thurunor reeled his weapon back and met his brother’s once more. The two exchanged explosive blows over and over again while showing unparalleled martial capability and discipline.

Thurunor recognized that a duel between the two was tragically poetic: he was strong, but Atreates was stronger. Atreates was fast, but Thurunor was faster. Not ten years prior to the great cataclysm, Titans fighting with the intention of killing the other was unheard of; impossible even. Now, it was all there was. Every strike against his brother was nothing short of surreal. Never in a thousand lifetimes would he have imagined a fight like this. What was worse, was the look in Atreates’ eyes. There was no hesitation, no apprehension, no sadness. There was only pain and bloodlust. No. He thought. If he was going to have any chance of winning, he had to abandon nostalgia and focus on his reason for fighting; the reason why he would never stop fighting: that the damned Nathwin took his brother from him.

Thurunor planted his foot firmly, swiftly angled his ax downward again and swung up with as much force as he could muster. The quick switch in form noticeably threw off the God of War and his smile vanished. He moved to block, the blades collided, and Thurunor sent his fallen brother careening across the square. Atreates’ boots dug into the ground leaving a trail of fire in his wake. He stopped himself just short of the tower behind him. Atreates straightened up and quickly cocked his head to one side, sending out an audible snap. He spoke with a mild tone,

“Are you taking our battle seriously, brother?” Atreates mocked. Thurunor felt himself gritting his teeth. “I had wondered when the real Thurunor might start to show himself.”

“This tactic of goading…this is not you.” Said Thurunor angrily. Atreates casually flipped his sword while speaking. It seemed almost like this was fun to him.

“Combat is more than blade on blade, and so is war. If you have not learned this after all these centuries—”

“You would do well to be silent.” The Storm Lord interrupted. Everything that came out of Atreates’ mouth hurt him more than the slice of a sword. It was an insult to everything the Titan was before. He couldn’t believe the honorable Lord of War was now this vile creature.

“—Then perhaps it’d be better for you to surrender now and save us both embarrassment.” Thurunor roared at his opponent, sending out explosive arcs of blue lightning as if the manifestations of his power matched his boiling fury. He dug his heels into the ground, shattering the tiles of the square before breaking into a sprint. He dove forward, fully allowing his divine arcane powers to carry his body through the air. Thurunor flew faster and faster before smashing straight into Atreates. He drove his brother straight through the building behind him. They barreled past stone and metal as if running through a grassy field. Nothing impeded Thurunor’s flight as the building collapsed around them.

The air grew cold as they suddenly found themselves high above the city. Without hesitation Thurunor threw the fallen Titan off him and brought Torden down on his dizzied brother. The air itself parted from the sheer force of the blow, emitting a sonic crash that could surely be heard by every square inch of the city should anyone still living be there. Molten ichor spat from the wound he inflicted. Atreates was sent down like a meteor. A fraction of a second passed before his body struck one of the remaining buildings, blasting through nearly all fifty stores before his body struck the ground. Even this close to the clouds, Thurunor could feel the final impact. He breathed deeply. His fists still knotted and jaw held tight. He felt a deep anger creeping through his veins; a powerful anger that was telling him to keep going—to not stop.

He moved quickly to not give his opponent a single moment’s rest. Thurunor put his ax on his back and raised his hands high above his head. With crackling thunder a small front of dark clouds swirled above him. His eyes gathered a new brightness, not seen before. Another strong column of blue lightning shot from the clouds and into his hands. He extended his arm towards the rubble that housed his brother and directed the bolt straight into it. The column lit up the city as it tore itself into the broken mound of stone. The ground erupted in a massive explosion of white arcane force that instantly vaporized an area several city blocks wide and turned it to black dust.Thurunor let his arms fall to his side, panting slowly and steadily. He displayed an incredible amount of power that was tiring even for a Titan. It was a gentle reminder of his imperfect divinity.

## *Cataclysm: Rage and Thunder* Part III

He gently lowered himself to the ground; to the center of what was now a lake of dust. The rage began to subside and was slowly replaced by a sinking feeling of shame. Beautifully crafted architecture was reduced to nothing but soot…all because of him; because of his indulgence to the rage.

His moment of respite was quickly torn away by fire spilling from the center of the wreckage. More and more the gray powder fell away, incinerating in flame as the familiar plume of red feather started rising from a molten hole forming at the center of the mound, like a demon emerging from a volcano. That wicked sneer was still planted firmly on Atreates’ face. There was a visible yellow slash across his chest, though smaller than before. The fallen Titan’s natural healing ability was already taking effect. In the thousand years that he’d been on this world, Thurunor knew his brother to have incredible power even among the Titans. Still though, he never could have anticipated him smiling after enduring such a blow. Thurunor had a feeling that was so rare to him he had nearly forgotten the word: it was doubt.

Atreates dropped his sword. White hot energies swelled in his molten hands, shining blindingly with power. Thurunor could feel its rising heat. It became so hot that the dust beneath him began bursting into flames. Atreates threw out his arms and a continuous jet of white hot flames exploded from his hands. Thurunor brought his hands together and conjured a small spiraling orb of blue lightning. He too swiftly extended his arms releasing a massive beam of crackling energy, barely in time before the flames could reach him. He dug his heels as far into the gray sand as he could, but keeping such power at bay was like pushing a mountain. He felt his muscles tearing at the seams, screaming for rest. His god-like tendons were stretched far past their limit. Thurunor roared into the void, refusing to let up, refusing to yield.

Suddenly, his body lurched forward and the incredible weight vanished. The flames were gone, allowing Thurunor’s projection of arcane bolts to ricochet to the side, vaporizing another tower. He frantically looked around, adrenaline surging through his body upon the realization that his brother was gone. The sinking feeling forced him to grip his ax tighter than ever before. Then it finally hit him. Above, he thought. Thurunor’s gaze instantly flicked up to find Atreates brandishing his sword not ten feet above him. He rolled away moments before the fiery blade decimated the ground he once stood. The blow was so close it singed the ends of his hair. Atreates swung again, connecting with the Ax Tempest inches from Thurunor’s ribs. He swung again and again, his movements were so precise that all Thurunor could do was block and deflect; every time just barely stopping the swing from a vital area.

More insultingly though, was that Atreates’ smile crept across his face, growing wider and wider until it broke into a monstrous laughter that was emphasized by every collision of blade on blade. Thurunor couldn’t believe what he was hearing. A being he looked up to, was laughing during their battle where, through mutual understanding, both knew the victor would kill the loser. All the pain and suffering from a decade of civil war and he was laughing? Did the centuries of brotherhood mean nothing? Was his friend so far gone that a duel to the death was nothing more than entertainment? Thurunor could feel it; the rage. He could feel it boil and ooze into every muscle and every blow. How dare he, thought the Lord of Storms. Once again, Thurunor’s thunderous ax met his brother’s blade. Arcane sparks spat wildly out of the clanging metal. In a moment of quick thought, he hooked his ax over the sword and dragged it down. Thick coils of blue lightning swirled up from Thurunor’s arm and into his flattened hand where an aura of blue energy formed the tips of his fingers. With all his might he drove his hand right through a gap in his brother’s armor right below the rib cage. He dug in as hard and as far as he could, reveling in the visible pain that struck Atreates’ face. Thurunor ripped his hand away, letting molten ichor spew from the wound. Atreates swiftly snatched Thurunor's wrist before he could move too far. Unable to pull away, he was dragged closer to his foe. Atreates leapt forward and sunk his armored knee straight into his brother’s guts. The power behind the impact swept the dust away beneath their feet. Thurunor could feel every molecule of air leave his lungs. He had to fight just to keep his vision from going dark. He turned away and threw up a thick vibrant blue liquid; it was blood.

He felt a thunderous crack against his face not a moment later as Atreates had struck him across his temple. The Titan’s head snapped to the side. His vision was blurred beyond belief. If it wasn’t for the distinct glow of fire and melted rock he wouldn’t have recognized anyone standing in front of him. There was a flash of white followed by another cacophony of agony as his brother had struck him again, knocking his head the opposite way. He could feel the steel-like bones in his jaw splinter under the pressure of a punch from the God of War. Half his vision turned red. Thurunor’s head swelled with so much pain it was hard to tell if he was even standing at all. The beating had become a brutal reminder of his own mortality. In a way it humbled him, almost making him feel an ounce of empathy for the demons he witnessed Atreates beat senseless in the past. Thurunor had traded blows with creatures of Chaos of sizes gargantuan and small, yet nothing compared to this.

When his vision began to clear, Thurunor found himself on his hands and knees at the base of the mound of dust while Atreates stood clutching his side at the top. The fallen Titan spat his own molten blood on the ground.

“You disappoint me, brother. I would have thought you would be a better challenge. I once again offer the chance to surrender. This time I suggest you take it.” Thurunor planted a foot firmly on the ground and slowly clawed his way up to stand. The world swayed, but still he did the best he could to hold firm.

“Never.” He said through labored breaths. “And besides, we both know you would not accept a surrender.” Atreates chuckled to himself.

“Hm, I thought as much. I wonder if Duramir would be a better match than you. Perhaps I shall pay him a visit next.” He taunted slyfully. Thurunor froze. He slowly tilted his head to make sure he stared Atreates dead in the eyes. Though they had grown close enough to refer to one another as ‘brother’, it was Duramir who Thurunor shared a father with. Blood trickled down his brow. He felt his breath deepen as his fists clenched tight enough to crush diamonds.

“You keep his name…out of your infernal mouth.” He said with a dark mechanical tone. Slowly and methodically, Thurunor’s complicated feelings towards his now malicious brother started to peel away: their kinship, fighting alongside one another, the ideals they shared, their goals, all were being boiled away by anger. And then he felt it. He felt an unfamiliar cold touch seeping into his bones that coiled around the lock that kept his rage in check. He heard a strange symphony of voices chanting something wicked, something dark: “kill him…kill him…kill him.” Over and over the voices chanted, but no. It wasn’t right. He pushed the feeling down further. Then his brother spoke again.

“Or maybe…Galvana.” A sneer slithered along his face. And there it was; Thurunor’s closest friend had fallen so far that he threatened his younger sister. “KILL HIM”. The lock was broken. A primal roar boomed from Thurunor’s lungs.

## *Cataclysm: Rage and Thunder* Part IV

“ATREATES!” A burst of lightning exploded from the ground where he stood. Instantly, he was mere feet from the fallen Titan. The Ax Tempest came down with a swarm of static trailing behind it. Atreates made an effort to block it but the untethered strength behind the swing was far greater than he could have ever anticipated and the fiery sword was immediately batted down. Thurunor clasped the back of Atreates’ head with incredible speed and bashed their skulls together. The heat of battle kept him from feeling any sensation, but the same could not be said for his brother. Spiderwebbed cracks formed across Atreates’ warhelm. Dazed, the Titan of War stumbled back. Thurunor swung for his head, again leaving a trail of arcane energy; colors of violet were seemingly mixed in with the blue. Despite the concussive blow he was dealt, Atreates’ natural sense of combat allowed him to block the attack, but just barely. Thurunor swung again and again, mirroring his brother’s earlier relentless assault. He thought about his duty to the mortals he protected, his duty to the world, his need to keep his siblings Duramir and Galvana safe. Though, a strange feeling began to slip itself around his mind. His thoughts were being overtaken by the want, no, the desire to kill his brother. The dark symphony of voices was now the loudest it had ever been. As Thurunor swung over and over he felt a sensation stretch over his face: it was a smile.

Thurunor roared again, bringing Torden down upon his brother’s blade. Full arcs of deep purple lightning spiraled around the ax. Under the boom of cackling thunder, the Lord of Storms had disarmed Atreates. The pupils of his brother’s eyes had shrunk as the smarm of unquestionable confidence had been replaced, by a horrified look of someone who had been forced to face the consequences of their actions. Thurunor spun his blade in his hand and with one final swing, sunk it into the gap where Atreates’ neck met his shoulder. He watched his brother howl in pain. It was a sound that Thurunor had rarely heard. His brother was not one to express pain, but inflict it. Atreates dropped to one knee and instinctively gripped the grave wound left by his brother. Molten ichor oozed from his severed shoulder, spilling onto the ground. Thurunor stood silently, glaring down at his broken foe. His fists trembled with rage as his breathing deepened. The ethereal choir of voices echoed again: “kill him!…kill him!…kill him!” The fire that emanated from Atreates’ divine body grew dimmer. Without him telling it to, Thurunor’s shaking hand slowly raised to reach for the ax again. It was as if it were moving on its own. The irises of his glazed eyes were no longer the vibrant blue they once were, but a sickly violet. A dark, deep, and ominous voice said a phrase in his head. As though the rage itself was controlling his every move, he repeated it out loud not a moment later.

“As you believe, dear brother, there is only one way this ends.” He said in a gutteral monotonous tone. As his hand touched the hilt of his ax, he instantly pulled it away, like a child touching a hot stove. The purple in his eyes had vanished and the voices quieted. NO, he thought. He quickly stepped away from his brother. He knew what he had to do, but it couldn’t be out of anger. Thurunor held his hand as if it’d been harmed, but no injury could be found. His eyes darted around the battlefield as if he’d been somehow absent for some time. Something wasn’t right. Everytime he looked at his broken friend he felt the urge to kill him bubbling from within, but he knew that was wrong. It had to be wrong. He heard that one voice again. This time it was far louder and more vivid. It was darker and more sinister than anything he had ever experienced. No creature in all the Plains could ever produce a sound so evil.

“M y.. c h i l d.…t h e r e.. i s.. n o.. r e a s o n.. t o.. f e a r.. t h e.. r a g e.” Thurunor’s breath was torn away from his lungs. It was there, in that moment, where he felt fear in its truest form. He knew exactly what the voice belonged to. Echoing in his mind, the voice came again.

“T h e r e.. i s.. b u t.. o n e.. w a y.. t o.. s a v e.. t h o s e.. y o u.. l o v e.” Images of his siblings Duramir and Galvana bore inside his head. Thurunor was forced to see them against his will. He saw Atreates maliciously killing them; their divine blood spilled by his oldest friend. Thurunor could feel his anger building within him. He knew it was wrong. He knew it was a lie, but something had taken hold of him. The Lord of Storms covered his eyes begging the images to stop. He fought, clawed, and writhed to bury the anger seeping into every pore of his psyche. His vision then went red and the only thing this disembodied horror was forcing him to see was Atreates. So easy would it be for the battle to end. One swing and his enemy would cease to be.

“T h u r u n o r.. L o r d.. o f.. S t o r m s…. S o n..  o f.. D e t r o…. e n d.. h i m.” His arm reached out again. NO! He screamed in his mind and ripped his hand away. The red tint of his vision vanished. At last, he was able to fight back against his own darkness; against the rage. It was by the sheer will of his duty and convictions that the voices quieted and he was able to feel like himself again. Even now, at what many believe was the end of all things, Thurunor would sooner die than allow corruption to take hold of him. Even so, all the anger he felt towards his brother was replaced with shame. While he staved off the touch of Chaos, those few moments that it took hold of him might as well have been an eternity. Thurunor, like most Titans, took pride in the belief that he was immune to Nathwin’s temptations. To say that he was humbled would be an understatement. And then, moments after breaking free of the shackles of his own anger, Thurunor winced as a sharp unbearable pain shot from his stomach. He looked down in horror to find a large flaming sword slide through his abdomen.

Thurunor, failing to catch his own breath, looked on to find the gaze of the assailant. In any other world, any other time, he would’ve expected his end to come from a creature of incredible power and incredible darkness. He would’ve expected his final battle to be that of the very last—to be one that he would fall knowing his sacrifice led to a future where all those he protected would know only peace. It wasn’t any of those things. He felt a clawed molten hand creep around the back of his head while the yellow hate-filled eyes of his brother stared back at him. There was no smirk, no sneer. It was as though Atreates was just as surprised as his brother. The game was over. Thurunor gagged uncontrollably as his body clawed for air. Vibrant blue blood spat out of his mouth. He could feel himself growing weaker by the second and all he could do was stare at his brother. It felt as though time had stopped. Like moths scurrying around a dying flame, Atreates’ eyes were anything but still. It was impossible to know what he was thinking. It was as if now, at the end, that he finally realized what he had become. Noros himself wouldn’t have been able to convince Thurunor that it wasn’t the last echo of his old self trying to break free. Atreates’ molten glowing eyes finally stopped and met Thurunor’s, but something was missing. They were void of regret; empty of anything other than pure conviction. It was with that final glazed look bathed in fire that Thurunor knew his brother was gone.

A fiery finger slicked around Thurunor as Atreates sunk his black clawed thumb into his brother’s face and carved out his left eye. Incomprehensible mortal agony shot through every nerve of his body. Even a being with power of his caliber could never believe it was possible to feel so much pain. He howled into the dark endless sky. Lightning bellowed in the wake of his screams. He felt the burning blade leave his body as it was torn from his abdomen spewing divine blood into the sandy ground. He felt the master crafted leather that wrapped Torden’s handle slip through his fingers. Thurunor dropped to his knees; his body exhausted and broken. Through blurred vision he saw his once beloved brother saunter around him.

“Your defeat was of your own making, brother.” He lectured proudly. “It seems your anger was your undoing. These contradictions will only hold you back, make you weak. I gave in a long time ago and now…now I am free.” Thurunor failed to listen to a word. His pain and shame carried his mind further and further from the battle. All he could think about was his failure to defeat his brother. He thought about the future of the world and his people that he would never get to see. He had always dreamed about reaching it with his brother beside him.

“Forgive me…father.” He uttered through gurgled blood. Atreates lurched toward him, as if he was offended by what was said.

“You can’t be serious. Here you are, the great Lord of Storms, on the brink of Final Death, and still you cling to your loyalty like a child. Neither your father nor any Priarch cares for us. We are a means to an end. Nothing more. The Ever King claims to love the mortals, but they are nothing more than his pets. We are meant for so much more yet he only holds us back. These animals are not worth our protection and their worship is an embarrassment to our true might. Why you refuse to see this I will never know.” A torrent of steam fell from Atreates lips as he let out a long sigh. Carefully, he gripped his flaming sword tightly and raised it high above his head. Thurunor could feel the unyielding heat radiate off the blade as it swayed over him. “Perhaps spending the next thousand years tortured by the Dark God will sway your stubborn mind.” The Lord of Storms shut his weary eyes. Thurunor couldn’t remember a time when he had ever given up or surrendered. It would have been a tragedy in its own right that anyone, mortal or otherwise, were to see a being as mighty as he brought so low; that if the lightning wielding demon slayer told about in children’s stories around the world had finally yielded. But, then again, perhaps that is why he came alone. Perhaps, deep within his heart, Thurunor knew he did not possess the power to defeat his closest friend. Perhaps he would have rather died than watch his brother fall deeper and deeper into the hands of the Dark God. Thurunor was tired and alone.

As Atreates heaved his mighty sword to deliver the final blow, a long spectral chain bathed in green ethereal light sprang from the ruined city beyond and coiled itself tightly around the blade. Even the undeniable battle senses of the War Titan failed to react before his sword was forced to the ground and his hand along with it. The inextinguishable flames screeched out from their binds. Whatever magic conjured the chains, it was powerful. In a fit of rage, fire flared wildly from the gaps in the black armor. Atreates thrashed about like a caged animal. Then another chain lashed out from the shadows. While the first came from the front, this one from behind. Like the one that came before, it wrapped around the wrist that held the sword and forced it down once more. Atreates roared in frustration. Pure arcane heat burst from his mouth. It was so hot it scorched the very air.

“Who dares deny me?! Flee now before I flay the skin from your skull!” His howls echoed throughout the ruined cityscape, but there was no response. Seconds before Atreates could move again, there came the thunderous bellow of quickened foot steps. The strides were heavy, yet whatever made them was far faster than any mortal, even with the assistance of magic. There was a flash of burning white light. followed by a swift strike and the clash of metal. Thurunor felt the wind of the blow and heard Atreates cry out in agony. When the light dissipated he saw them: A warrior covered head to toe in metal plate so white it was difficult to perceive, even for him. The figure stood several feet taller than any mortal. A helm shaped like the skull of a dragon covered their face. In their hands was long halberd with a glaive bathed in ethereal arcana. It was a weapon of incredible power and beauty; its craftsmanship was as much a work of art as it was deadly. The halberd had found its mark in a small gap in the knee joint of Atreates’ armor. Even Thurunor was astounded at the precision of the attack. But he would have expected nothing less. For this was a Praetorian, the only beings worthy of guarding the palace of the Priarchs. They are said to be the first mortals to have come in contact with Noros. By simply being in the presence of one so powerful for so long, the divine energies emanating off the Ever King transformed them into what they are now: stoic guardians of unquestionable skill and icons of devotion.

Though in the heart of battle—his element—Atreates couldn’t help but gawk at the being before him. In fairness, it was a marvel in its own right. No Praetorian had ever stepped foot outside the palace walls. A smile appeared on the War Titan’s face. Though, not as sinister as Thurunor had experienced before. No, it was of an ominous acceptance; of relief perhaps. Whatever the reasoning, it was completely uncharacteristic of the blatant incenserity that possessed his previous grins. “I see…today must truly be the end if the Ever King had set you loose on the battlefield.”

The Praetorian ripped the halberd from its emplacement, they flipped the blade up in one impossibly quick motion and sent it directly towards Atreates’ head. His head cocked to the side ever so accurately, but his pupils narrowed to nearly nothing as the harrowing blade had already shot past his face. A thin orange line slid across the Titan’s cheek, followed by the ooze of fiery orange blood. Atreates howled in rage. Before their weapon could be pulled back, he furiously kicked the white plated warrior away, sending them tumbling into the sand. Had any other mortal received a kick like that it would have severed their spine like a twig. The Praetorian rose immediately. Atreates expected the warrior to rush him again, but he waited in silence.

Another just like him leapt from the shadows, and a third not far behind. Both armed the same as the first with beautifully crafted halberds. It was clear now that this was a calculated assault. They had planned this. The War Titan brought his free hand down on the chains around his wrist. A warm red light billowed from his palm as he attempted to cast a spell. Not a moment passed before he instinctively whipped his hand away, just in time before a glowing blade struck exactly where it was. He roared monstrously at the white armored guardian.

“You challenge me?! You challenge ME?!” He bellowed. It seemed the War Titan was growing more crazed by the second. Under eyes quivering with madness, Atreates threw a fist towards the helm of the Praetorian that denied him a spell. His arm flew through the air like a meteor. He pulled no punches and held nothing back. With his titanic strength, any blow no matter how minute, could be crippling to even the mightiest of warriors. No doubt, they knew this. The Praetorian, the second one to charge him, immediately spun out of the way. Taking their place in a perfect substitution was the third holding up their halberd to meet the attack. The collision sent out a fierce shockwave in every direction like wildfire carried at the speed of sound. The fact that the weapon did not shatter on impact was a testament to its legendary craftsmanship. The Praetorian that was replaced quickly weaved underneath their companion and skewered Atreates across his black plate leaving a thick orange gash in its wake. The Praetorians were masters at martial combat, each one a legend, but they proved to be the deadliest when grouped together. They had trained for literal centuries to follow each other’s movements so closely that it was as though they shared the same mind. One would be a match for the strongest of greater demons, but a team, perhaps a Titan. The challenge, though, was that this was not just any Titan. This was the Lord of War.

## *Cataclysm: Rage and Thunder* Part V

The Praetorian that blocked stepped in to follow up their companion. With reflexes of lightning Atreates grabbed their halberd and opened his mouth wide. From his gaping maw came a raging jet of flame so intense it boiled the air around them and sent the warrior barreling away. He swung a leg around to catch his other opponent in the side. The Praetorian ducked low, but quickly followed by sweeping their halberd across the ground, casually turning a large section of the sandy earth to glass. Atreates instantly leapt back and spewed another torrent of raging fire towards the white plated guardian. Several hundred years of fearsome training forced the Praetorian to cock his head upward before a single speck of ember left the Titan’s mouth. He spun the magical glaive like a two handed batton and brandished it forward. With a flash of bright light a blue ethereal disk formed at the tip of the blade. Out from it came a thick column of raging water to meet the incoming flames. There was an explosive force of burning steam that engulfed the battlefield when the two beams of elemental magic collided; the force of which would have boiled the skin away from any mortal unlucky enough to be standing close by. For the combatants though, it was just a nuisance. The hot steam prevented one from seeing the other. The Praetorian remained utterly motionless, waiting for their opponent to make the next move. In that moment of incredible patience, the dirt itself would have been more lively. They stayed there, waiting, calculating every move the Titan might make. Suddenly, with the ferocity of a volcanic eruption came a long, crescent-shaped saber made of bright arcane energy. It glowed with an aura that bathed their surroundings in an imposing blood red color.

When the Praetorian instinctively rose to block it, the shockwave dispersed the steam entirely. His hand was still bound by the chains, but the towering giant in black armor that was Atreates had used magic to manifest a second blade out from his free hand. A wide, unnerving smile began to creep across the Titan’s face. Unfazed, the Praetorian flicked the massive magic saber aside and went for the enemy’s throat. Atreates dismissively batted it away and followed it up with another overhead strike. The Praetorian blocked again, but the pure weight of the Titan forced the ground to buckle beneath their feet. Seeing a weakness—any weakness—shown from the perfect protectors of Noros made Atreates’ smile widen. The white armored guardian moved, but the Titan moved faster. Again he attacked, forcing another block. He slashed again and again, each strike more ferocious than the last. Shockwaves followed every one. They were fueled by a persistent rage that ran deep within the attacker. Atreates was a whirlwind of fury displaying a martial prowess that could only be dreamed of. Even an Archon would have been disarmed within the first few blows, but the Praetorian held their own even if on the backfoot. Atreates’ mouth slipped into an eerie lipless grin. A steady rhythmic acoustic sound spilled from the Titan. It crept into the ears of all that could hear it and filled the space with its sinister tones. It was laughter. The harder he fought, the more violent his swings, Atreates’ lungs bellowed with sickly laughter.

He stepped forward. The Praetorian stepped back.

“You think yourselves so mighty that you would dare challenge me?” His laughter persisted. He took another step towards the guardian. The chains pulled taught around the arm that held his sword. “You don’t think I know how you came to be?” He stepped again and the chains pulled tighter. “You’re nothing but children pretending to be on the same pedestal as gods!” Another step. “Tell me, what good will your gifts from the Ever King be when each and every one of your skulls is hung from my tunic?!”

Atreates lunged at the Praetorian like a lion that had finally caught its prey. The chains had stretched his arm so far that it should have been ripped from its socket. He swept his body low and with every ounce of terrible strength, arced his arcane sword upward and slashed the guardian clean from their waist to their shoulder. A burst of white light gleamed from the enormous gash the Titan left in their armor. The fleeting light was so warm in its majesty, It was as though purity incarnate was spilling from the divine mantle that protected the Praetorian. With a crackle of red energy, the Praetorian twisted in the air and flew across the ruined landscape, landing limply on the scorched ground.

Before his triumph could be celebrated a long metal object slithered across his throat and a great force pulled him back, finally gagging his wicked cackle. The Titan managed to force his head to look over his shoulder to find the first Praetorian, the one he kicked away, using their halberd to collar him. Atreates hooked his arm over his head and grabbed hold of the assailant’s helmet. With a grip that would shatter stone he threw the Praetorian over his shoulder and slammed their master plate armored body on the ground before him. An audible boom shook the field. Quickly, he pinned the warrior to the ground with their own weapon. Kneeling on the halberd that restrained their hands, he could hear the enchanted metal hiss and squeal. He raised the arcane blade and watched the shadow of the tip line perfectly with the forehead of the helm. Before the final blow could be given, Atreates felt a pair of arms slither around his that had the blade. They were without armor; strong and larger than that of a Praetorian. His eyes trailed to fixate on whoever he believed was foolish enough to join in. To his bewilderment, he found the broken and bloodied figure of his once beloved brother, Thurunor.

Rivers of blood oozed from the Thunder Lord’s eye and abdomen. It seemed as though a breeze would be enough to knock the Titan down, but there he stood. Time stood still. Atreates was laughing no more. Thurunor glared at his brother; his brow so furled it was as though it was carved in stone. Beneath that battered face, there was still unyielding fury.

“You wish to fight me even on borrowed time?” Atreates bit.

“I do.” His brother said.

“You’ll die all the same.”

“I don’t care.” Thurunor bit, tightening his grip over Atreates’ burning black gauntlet. The War Titan looked away. When his eyes met his brother’s once again, there was that damned smile. It was different, though. It was strangely warm, welcoming even. Though brief, Thurunor noticed the complete uncharacteristic change in his brother’s demeanor. Perhaps there was a shred, however small, of sincerity.

“And there he is.” Atreates said quietly. “There is the real Thurunor.” That strange choice of words loosened his brother’s brooding expression ever so slightly. Thurunor would ponder the meaning of that phrase uttered by his fallen brother for the rest of his life on the material plain. Atreates released a great sigh. “So be it.” He said, and reeled his arm back to try and rip it from his brother’s grip. It never moved an inch. Thurunor winced as it took every fiber of his being to hold onto his brother’s titanic arm. Atreates’ eager soaked grin fell away. He had enough. A white hot light started building in his throat as his mouth widened. It closed up quickly as the Titan let out a roar of anguish. His head snapped to whatever dared to cause that much pain. He found the Praetorian he had previously pinned thrusting the glowing halberd into his thigh. Vibrant orange ichor trickled from the wound and splattered on the ground after the tip of the blade had burst through to the other side. He snarled at the Praetorian like a wild animal, flames leaping from his breath. Yet, he was once again halted before he could do anything in response. A cackling coil of vibrant blue arcana slid its way around his body. He felt thousands of thunderous pin pricks all over his arms and legs that sent his muscle fibers ablaze with pain. Noticing the color of the magic he immediately looked to the Thunder Lord. There, he could see Thurunor clinging to his arm as much as he was clinging to his own life, but his one unscathed eye was glowing in the same shade of blue. His pure white mane dancing in the wind. Atreates knew given any other circumstance that Thurunor would be more than capable of displaying this kind of sorcery without having to lift a finger. Now, though, it was clear it was a great effort for him to do so.

“You…” He said through gritted teeth. “You think this can…hold me?” The War Titan bit.

“No.” Thurunor began. “But it doesn’t have to for long.” The ethereal chains pulled Atreates’ sword arm more taunt than ever.. He furiously hurled his vision to wherever those damned chains led to. His misshapen pupils narrowed. Fire burned in his eyes.

On the other end of the chains that had prevented him from fighting at his full potential, was a fourth Praetorian holding them tight as if keeping a wild dog on a leash. Their metal boots had been dug firmly in the dirt. Piles of ash had been built up at the ends showing that he had been fighting a near losing battle against the abominable strength of the Titan. Next to them, 20 feet to the left, was a fifth Praetorian keeping a wide stance while methodically waving their thick plated arms through the air. Wisps of ethereal green light trailed behind their hands. They flowed like water down a river. Though the Praetorians preferred close combat, they had been extremely well trained in all manner of warfare including the arcane. The magic user began making circular motions in the air. It was slow at first, but slowly elevated in speed and in intensity. The movements were trance-like; graceful yet powerful. Suddenly, in the space between the caster and the one holding the chains, huge swaths of the same glowing green energy began manifesting out of thin air. It churned and swirled, spinning faster and faster like the rapids of a constant roaring river. With a loud echoing boom the energy exploded, forming a huge vortex. Thurunor marveled at the size of it. It was easily large enough to swallow every combatant. Dust whipped around violently as the power of the vortex unleashed itself onto the battleground. The Praetorian holding the chain gathered what loosened links were left and heaved them into the swirling energy.

“No…” Atreates breathed. The sinking realization of what was happening crept into his soul like a delinquent child brought before a scolding parent. “NO!” He screamed; his voice ripe with hatred. Atreates lunged for Thurunor, but was ferociously ripped off his feet by an unknown force beyond the vortex. The power of the Titan was poultry in comparison to whatever strength the spell possessed. Atreates’ massive frame hurled through the air before a desperate clawed hand tore itself into the earth, stopping himself halfway between his brother and the vortex. Thurunor’s body gave out the moment Atreates was torn from his grasp. Hands working instinctively out of self preservation caught the crumbling Titan. He couldn’t remember the last time he found himself in such a state. Torn muscle fibers screamed for relief as labored breaths wheezed from blood filled lungs. To think there was any magic in all the realms that could humble his brother was relieving, yet unnerving.

Atreates fought so wildly with the chain that bound him it looked as if the only thing left was to remove his arm entirely. Given all that he had seen in their battle, Thurunor was half expecting him to do so. The Titan’s fingers clawed into the ground, but it was a clear losing battle. Inch by inch he was dragged ever closer to the looming vortex. He watched his friend twist and contort his body far past his limit. Inconsolable howls of hatred and anguish blurted from a saber toothed mouth that frothed with fire.

“No magic can hold me! I am strength incarnate! I bend my knee to no one and nothing!”  His atrocious ramblings had nearly lost all coherency, but Thurunor still heard them well. His heart bled from every word. Whatever this hateful, rage filled creature was, this was not the person he shared a brotherly bond with. The Atreates he knew stood for honor and justice, but a creeping thought started to spread through his mind like a cancer. Thurunor had always seen a lingering thirst for battle reside deep within his brother. Even in the centuries before the Golden Age, he saw the joy displayed on the Titan’s face from slaying tides of demons; the desire to keep going long after a battle had already been won. How punishing it must have been to hide those feelings from his closest friends. But Thurunor knew. Atreates never really could lie; not to him at least. Never to him. Thurunor could see how his friend fought with himself, how the thousand years of peace clashed with his latent need to fight.

Bad thoughts. That’s what he had always believed they were. Why? He thought Why couldn’t I have seen it sooner? Why couldn’t I have listened better? Of all the injuries inflicted on him that day, all were eclipsed tenfold by the regret that plagued Thurunor’s mind. He would have given away everything he had just for the chance to go back and reach him before chaos did. His father, Detro, had always warned him about how power made you more susceptible to corruption than anything else. And who was more powerful than the Titans? Chaos preys on the deepest desires and fears of those it corrupts. It consumes them and it breaks them. Gazing over at the monster flailing wildly in a hellish typhoon of madness and hate, Thurunor could see that it shattered him into more pieces than there were stars in the sky. He was a pure reflection of the creatures the Titans swore to destroy.

Another chain flew from the vortex like a viper coiling around Atreates’ waist. As he was dragged ever closer, unblinking eyes of coal black and crimson focused on the Lord of Storms. Like that, Thurunor was cut down with a single look. The thunderous rage seized, like prey accepting death. They were far from each other, Atreates spoke to him as though he were mere inches away.

“Do not think for one moment that I would drop to my knees and beg. I spit on any forgiveness you may harbor. You listen well, brother, I would rather my skin be stripped from my bones than deny what I have always been: a warrior! You may see me as a monster, but I act on the ugly truth that you will never admit: your precious mortals no longer need gods like me and I do not need them. We have given them our blood and they repay us with cities of deceit, thievery, and corruption. I did not give my mind, body, and soul to be cast aside when my usage is done. My Archon and I conquered this world and so it should be—WILL be—mine to rule!” A crystalline tear sloped down Thurunor’s beaten face. It coursed through the valleys of his hardened features before plummeting to the ground. He expected himself to scream at his brother. He expected the rage to overcome him once again and to rip Atreates limb from limb. He felt no anger. He didn’t feel anything at all. There wouldn't be any point. This thing was not his brother. In fact, he knew his brother died a long time ago. The Atreates he knew was a symbol of honor and devotion, not something of malice. As he watched the eerie green glow from the vortex wash over this being of hate, they spoke again; their words low, guttural, and eternal. “Mark my words, my brother, if it takes me a thousand years or more, the Material Plain will feel no greater fear than on the days of my return…and my vengeance will be absolute.” Once Atreates passed the threshold of the vortex, it quickly collapsed in on itself with a violent gust of wind and disappeared.

Thurunor felt a warm metallic hand press on his bare shoulder where a pauldron had been torn away from battle. A white light rippled across his body like the wake of a small pond. Ease cradled the living corpse that he was, following his duel with the God of War. He looked down at the wound where the flaming sword skewered his abdomen and watched as the light tethered itself to the severed skin and gracefully pieced it together. A steadied, genderless voice spoke to him.

“Are you alright, my Lord?” The voice was concise and disproportionately calm for the power of the warrior that it came from.

“Must I really answer that question?” He replied, watching as the two other Praetorians—the one wielding the chains and the other that summoned the portal—joined them.

“No.” Said the Praetorian, “merely making conversation. Whether you wish to entertain my attempt is up to you.” Thurunor scrunched his nose in a huff.

“Thank you.” He muttered.

“No need. It is my will to serve the Titans.” The two other Praetorians stopped synchronously in front of Thurunor. Their movements were so precise it was almost as if they shared the same mind. All Praetorians were identical to one another in every way. The one that created the vortex, however, had distinct runes shining off his armor with the same majesty as a clear sky. A vibrant blue feathered plume wisped gracefully from the top of their helmet.

“Your wounds we can heal, but your eye, I’m afraid, is beyond our magic.” The tone coming from the one with the runes was commanding, speaking with unapologetic authority over the Titan.

“It’s fine.” Thurunor shrugged. “I have learned to live with the scars I’ve earned.” The Praetorians stood still, looking expectantly at the Titan. He felt a slight unease; as though they were in a strange subliminal competition for who would be the first to speak. Words slipped from his mouth as he finally broke the silence. “Are…your compatriots—”

“They are gone. Destroyed by Atreates, but will be remembered.” His response was quick and kurt. Thurunor, finally realizing why they had nearly dared him to speak first, let his heavy gaze fall to the ground.

“I see…I am sorry.” He said.

“Yes you are, Titan.” The Praetorian bit, coating every syllable with a sickle of disdain. Thurunor’s head perked up.

“I did not ask to be assisted. This fight was mine alone to bear!” He snapped.

“You confuse nobility with pride.” The Praetorian said sternly. “Atreates used your kinship against you in hopes that you too would fall to corruption. When he saw that you would not turn he moved quickly to end you.”

“If it was my destiny to die today then I would have accepted it.” Thurunor’s voice bellowed like a destructive force of nature. The silence that followed was just as loud and twice as tense. Every interaction Thurunor had ever had with the Praetorians has been unorthodox. They lived to serve the Titans, yet were never hesitant to debate or even argue with them. He was not used to being talked down to and never liked to be questioned, but after all that occurred that day, there was hardly any fight left in him.

“You feel responsible for his fall.” They said abruptly. Praetorians often spoke unapologetically and usually without emotion. This made them perceptive on a level that was uncanny to everyone around them, even the Titans.

“I do.” Thurunor replied, turning away. He no longer had the strength to bury his true feelings. His lips moved independent from his own inhibitions. There was a blatant shift in the Praetorian’s tone as they seemed to ease their leash of condemnation.

“Your feelings are natural, Lord Thurunor. I can think of no other Titan Atreates was closer to than you. Nathwin is a master at using our thoughts and feelings to betray us.” Flashes of his fight with the War Titan wracked his mind like strokes of lightning.

“That he does.” The Titan sighed, his rage receding like the tides. “Tell me,” He began again. “What is your name?”

“Exemplar Iridon.” Thurunor’s eyebrows raised high on his head. Praetorians had no conventional names. They were instead referred to as adjectives or phrases that best represented their greatest accomplishment or what little personality they had. However, only the greatest of their ranks were bestowed a second name of their own choosing only by permission of Noros himself. This was not just any one of the 100 Praetorians. Thurunor took some solace in the fact that it took such a capable warrior to rescue him. Although he would never allow himself to say that he was, in fact, ‘rescued’.

“Thank you, Exemplar Iridon.” He said, feeling the quakes and squeals of his joints while trying to get himself to stand. The Praetorian reached out his hand toward the Titan. Thurunor stared hesitantly before finally taking it.

“We should return to the fight.” Said Iridon.

“Indeed. Our people need us. Care to accompany me?” The Titan asked.

“It is the most optimal course of action. It would be unwise to separate. Once Atreates’ Archon learn of what has happened here, they will come for us.” Soft wind blew through his ivory mane. It pulled and tugged on his stare that seemed to go on forever until his eyes were brought to the very last place he would ever see his brother. It seemed impossible for his mind to think of anything else. Bright blue static danced around knotted fists. Words fell from his lips like stones cratering into the earth.

“I’m counting on it.”