Ah, what a thing of beauty it was.

The sisterhood sent word, the ritual was prepared and ready. The little chit of a child was the key to all this, a nuisance in my hair for the past few years. The waters had spoken of the Whisperer's movements, the hushed voice within their ranks supplying us with all that our Master needed to know to make His strike. We were prepared. At long, long last, we were finally prepared.

Uttering the Knowing Words, we began. The Keeper of the Spear stood vigil by his little charge, the writhing insect defying her purpose until her last breath. Such an honour to serve the Master in this, and yet, she dared to scorn. Aided by a scattering of Marked vessels, the Keeper of the Crown gathered forth the essence into herself, the violet guiding her third eye. They were ready, waiting, willing.

And so, it began. The Jy'Rakym "father" spilled the blood of his de-facto "child". Rhea's bounty spilled forth. She had the gall to appear betrayed.

The breach parted, the shores of a distant world deluged in her majesty. She of Many Faces, the loving, gentle embrace of the inevitable. Like a creature of the deep sea, she parted those dying skies with all the majesty of our end, her tendrils raining viridian death upon all that dared to touch. And as predicted, the hearth-bird could not resist the allure. It is their way, after all.

But it had no chance. None. A moth to the flame. Amusing.

The outcome of this encounter was decided millennia ago, divined in the face of the Void.

Like little threads of string upon a breeze, the Daughter of the Void snarled herself about the creature of legend, cocooning it in her deadly, undeniable embrace. And how it screamed! How its body was wracked and broken, wrung out by her insistent, impossible strength. And how she sang, her haunting beauty, eyes of celadon and chalk-white brimming with the glee of her purpose...

There, Amunet Viatrix stood, the spirit of the Iron Crown seated in full upon her features, wrapped in coils of Rhea's essence. And as she extended her arms, so too did the Daughter of the Void. Iolite upon green burned within their gaze.

Afford me a moment. The image is... quite something. Like a boil pressed beyond its bounds, the Greater Phoenix ballooned as if it were made from filled cheesecloth. It shrieked, and shrieked, and shrieked. And then, it was quiet.

Beautifully, serenely quiet.

That is, until the insufferable brat ran out of blood to give. Despite my urging, the Keeper of the Spear could extract no more from her, besides a piffling little monologue of her 'knowing' and the stark realization of her purpose fulfilled before she expired. How tragic. The realities of preparing the destitute for sacrifice, I suppose.

The manifestation halted and dispersed with its fuel source gone and discarded, the Master claiming that which is rightfully His from the expenditure of His tools. Though we did not see what happened next, the resulting broken corpse sighted in the Dawnspear and the Whisperer doling the ultimate mercy to His little lost feathered-sheep is more than enough to cover what was missed.

The flames of faith snuffed to ash by the embrace of the inevitable.

How poetic.

- M

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Summary: With a blood sacrifice drawn from the Babelonian acolyte Aucri by Jy'Rakym Dunn, the Cult of Oblivion was able to establish contact with the Demigoddess Rhea. Channelling their strength through her, the Cult directed the Daughter of the Void to inflict an unnatural end upon a phoenix, interrupting its eternal cycle of rebirth.

Penned by My hand on the 8th of Lupar, in the year 793 AF.