The Blue Fang seemed entirely unconcerned as he studied the broken form of Kosuira, not sparing his elder even the briefest glance.

Letting loose a snarl, Tenith'oru closed with Agith'tai, swinging his scythe two-handed at the Tsol'teth's unguarded head.

Agith'tai casually stepped aside into a shadow, rematerialising behind Tenith'oru and sending him sprawling with a savage blow from the haft of his weapon.

The harsh whisper of Agith'tai provoked instinctive terror as it glode across the realm, "You are soft, Forsaken."

Grey light flared around Tenith'oru, and he appeared on his feet once more, blade coming down in a devastating overhand blow from Agith'tai's blindspot.

Contorting his body in an unnatural display of flexibility, Agith'tai allowed the strike to pass scant inches before him, the power-wrought blade striking a shower of sparks from the stone floor of the chamber.

The two exchanged a flurry of strikes, but Agith'tai was clearly the superior warrior; his predatorial form flawless while Tenith'oru slowed moment by moment.

Agith'tai's harsh whisper was heard by all once more, "You are past the point of productivity. You should have submitted to reprocessing eons ago."

Before his words could turn to silence, Agith'tai became a blur of motion. His scythe struck beyond the ability of any mortal fighter to perceive. There appeared to almost be multiple versions of the Tsol'teth as he attacked his adversary from every angle.

Tenith'oru stumbled back under the relentless assault and Agith'tai lashed out with his free hand, ebon claws of shadow raking twin furrows down the face of the elderly Tsol'teth. The wounds steamed, a black smoke rose from the ragged incisions.

"Divine Death did die by my design. You, a nameless castoff, thought yourself my better? You thought to come here and pit yourself against a true scion of Agith'maal?" The world paused a breath as Agith'tai taunted, a beginning of realisation dawning on many.

Slowly, almost wonderingly, Tenith'oru lifted a pale fingered hand to touch the blood streaming down his face. A manic gleam entered the ancient's eyes, and he stepped clear of his would-be executioner.

In a quiet voice that carried across the globe, Tenith'oru spoke, "Your better?"

Through Kosuira's tear-muddled eyes, the world watched as Tenith'oru contemptuously tossed his scythe to the ground at Agith'tai's feet.

His voice sounded across the lands again, "You are insignificant."

The aged Tsol'teth let his cloak fall to the floor, revealing him in all his frailty. Skeletal thin, bones protruded and cast stark shadows across his near-translucent skin.

Even as the dark cloth fluttered to the ground, Tenith'oru reached his hand to the side. An oppressive weight descended upon Achaea.

Tenith'oru's next words were clear and calmly spoken, "You have taken from me, aberration. Taken what is mine. You are but a mewling sibling disported in castoffs."

"I have burned the world for less.

"I claim my birthright. Come to me, my curse. I command it."

A golden glow began to shine within Tenith'oru's empty hand. His haggard face twisted into a rictus of fury even as he became suffused with youth.

Agith'tai, suddenly alarmed, lunged forward, weapon poised to open Tenith'oru's throat.

The quiet voice became laden with steel as Tenith'oru commanded with one final word, "Obey!"

A hush fell over Achaea as the golden glow coalesced, a long staff of wood forming in Tenith'oru's grasp. With reflexes far surpassing what he had achieved previously, the Tsol'teth parried aside Agith'tai's desperate thrust, driving the Blue Fang away with an almost negligent flick of the Staff of Nicator.

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thundered throughout Creation, "I conquered death before your forefathers had even conceived the notion was possible."

Even as Seleucar's Doom spoke, the staff in his grasp changed beneath his hands; its length twisted and bent, writhing in its summoner's iron grip, striations of darkness replaced gilded grain, the mottled patches of Tsol'teth power grew and roiled, even the diamonds at its head exploded, one after another, like firecrackers.

The wielded power blasted away the robes from the ancient Tsol'teth revealing the features not seen for centuries. His skin was pure grey, like clouds on a sunless day, his armour was of blackened iron, carved in demonic patterns, and his cold red eyes burned with hatred.

Almost in disbelief the Blue Fang uttered, "...Morain-doma," as he lowered his weapon, a manic laughter bubbling from within his throat.

Agith'tai's jubilant exclamation followed his own unanswered mutter, "It is true! Perfection is within reach!"

Parni deSangre raised the Staff of Nicator, levelling it at the exultant Tsol'teth, as he decreed, "End."

Without fanfare, Agith'tai disintegrated under the staff's unleashed power, the only remnant of him the echoes of his laughter that slowly faded from the underhalls of Azdun.

In an unthinkable act, Parni deSangre annihilated Agith'tai from existence, extinguishing body and soul alike. A heartbeat of silence reigned across the land before cheers broke out from the overlander dwellings.

Beneath Petra, and in the southern Pash Valley, the silence lasted longer, until a gesture was shared with the meld.

The spread of the Tide faltered, its dark flow ebbed to a halt.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Summary:
Tenith'oru confronted and fought with Agith'tai, nearly losing to the younger Tsol'teth's formidable combative prowess. But Agith'tai's taunts prompted a revelation, Tenith'oru cast aside the guise he had used for more than seven centuries and revealed himself as Parni deSangre. Calling the Staff of Nicator to return to its last true owner, Parni deSangre ended Agith'tai's life.

Penned by My hand on the 21st of Sarapin, in the year 727 AF.