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Striking Looks
Presence
New Identity(Steven Chojun Trueheart)
Kaze stands there, listening, to the explosion outside, to the Master's well, basically saying 'goodbye' inside.
Kaze sends a message over the agreed on radio frequency.
"<So. The uh, wagon is packed and looks like there's only room for us family, and might leave any minute. Hope you guys can get on before it leaves this war zone.>"
Kasterborous follows the tendrils of temporal energy emanating from, toward, and around the heart. "Fantastic light show, you can't buy that down in Chinatown. Tick tock guys, the suits will be here soon."
He takes his fingers and twirls one of the tendrils.
"Not to plague us with puns but time is of the essence."
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Winter reaches out and takes the clockwork heart. The metal is warm to the touch.
It beats...
Winter Kaze Kasterborous Shodan and Sand feel the world solidify around them, as though they were insects caught in amber. Then there is an awful tug from somewhere up ahead that yanks them sideways and widdershins. The world seems to slip away to the left, vanishing beyond the arc of sight.
Into darkness the plunge. Screaming darkness. Between space; between time. Rushing between then and now as if one was on a very person, very small, log flume. And the future is at the bottom of a very long, very steep drop...
For Shodan and Sand the transition is particularly harsh. They have a witness. A child. She senses that something is wrong before the whiplash hurls them forward in time. The child stiffens in Sand's hand; hold's on even as time comes to a standstill and the Obrimos is torn away. The girl's mouth forms an "O". A silent scream.
There is the barest glance of Supernal power flashing and flowering around the girl before she is lost to their sight.
The group are hurled back into the nave of the Circle of Creation. It is moving. It is alive! The floor is shifting: flagstones turning, shifting, sinking into the ground to be replaced by new ones that form a different pattern of tessellation. The clock rises from the floor and hovers high in the air, apparently independent of the building itself. Gears whirr. Hands move. Bells ring.
The heart appears within the clockwork movement, beating loudly. Hands click into place. And with one final chime Supernal energies flare and dissipate. The clock can barely be seen under the phantasm display of Prime. Instead, there is only an ouroboros: the serpent eating itself; time streams flowing together in an endless loop; time lines closing... closing... closed and Sealed away.
With another flash of radiance, it ends. And there is only a clock-like tessellation on the ground once more, dust and mana steaming from it like effervescent breath.
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