[b]The Mind's Eye[/b]
[i]Nowhere, Sometime, Alternate Reality[/i]
None stood in the way of the Warrior as he strode through their divine halls, through their arbitrary rules of space and time. They said that the sword he bared was that of time, and that his was the only rule; such was logical. The Ignus had long prophesied of the incarnation of Vulcan: the Lord of the Time, as Death, for death was inevitable, and time was the only constant. Matthew Hallwinter understood this law as a simple truth, and by that right alone, he passed through.
The Mark of Hallwinter was emblazoned on his face: a strange, geometric war-paint that accentuated the bare features of his sharp face, so that any Ignus that saw him would see only creation's will. Though strange for him, he understood that his thoughts had no meaning in their dimension, and that by obeying their Laws was paramount in order to survive. His blade, known by no name other than its master's, radiated such heat that no mortal could withstand it besides him, yet in the presence of Vulcan it felt both unbearably hot and pitifully cold. Ambassador Cain often prayed in this dimension-throne, as it sat unblemished throughout time, and thus was able to connect with Vulcan in a way no other realm could. To enter this, one must understand time at its most basic and fundamental level, which is why the Ignus never failed in their conquest, yet only Cain could enter this room, for only he could hold the power. Hallwinter bent a knee besides the surprisingly small metal figure, and whispered Time's Judgement to him,
"The world, as you see it, is stone and dust, subject only to the will of Vulcan. Death comes to all invariably, but those who hide from Time itself. Yet Time is not the will of any one being, as you say it is. Time is the mind, the hand that makes [swords, stone, ashes]. By that, I kill you."
Matthew Hallwinter hesitates for the briefest moment, yet in that reality, also an eternity. Lying before him was the mortal enemy of the Empire, and of millions of other civilizations before it. Rendering him null was not enough to satisfy Time.
"By that, I am become Death, the Harbinger of Time. And by this..."
He runs Cain through with the blade, neither enjoying nor resenting the feeling of death washing over his mortal enemy.
"... I end the Sol Alliance."
He withdrew the blade, and stood barren before Time, before slowly he backed away towards home, under the appraising view of the Mind's Eye.
[spoiler]Closed, open to feedback, I suppose. This is just some abstract writing I've been working with, and is by no means what actually happened to Taskmaster. [/spoiler]
English
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The Sentinel watched— and stared— and waited. And finally, the Unclean's presence was gone. He felt like he should have been surprised, yet nothing came; an infinite abyss yearned back at him— IT— as he grasped at whatever nonexistent reaction he could find. No. No reactions. Only responses. It was in the coolant that comprised his veins, the metal that made his body and bones, and the Fire of Sol that made his being; a doctrine older than time and yet never instilled until this accursed realm. And as he stared at the body of the broken Anchor that once connected this haphazard mess of an excuse for "reality" with the Ignus' lack thereof, the response clicked, and it was acted upon as he stared at the one who wielded Fire in his hands and Time in his grasp. And it was spoken. [b][i]"Welcome, O Anchor Borne Upon Corpses." "Let Us Make More."[/i][/b]
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Nice.