Heavenly Opposers-Chapter 290 - 289-Tone It Down A Bit.
’This is quite suffocating’
Azrail thought as he sat at a wide array of tables surrounded by a lot of the elders, their gazes focused on him, checking him from top to bottom.
"Why don’t you show us how you look?"
A commanding voice that contained the power from Espair spoke, making Azrail look at it.
’Aelion the Forsaken’
A figure of tragic beauty and haunting might, radiating an aura of both timeless grace and relentless despair. Aelion’s origins lie with the Ælthari, a near-extinct race known for their exceptional prowess in the arts of spirit-weaving and binding. His very appearance speaks to the remnants of his former lineage and the burdens he has borne across ages—an image so captivating it’s whispered that anyone who looks upon him is struck by both awe and an unshakeable sorrow. His tall, elegant figure holds the posture of a being accustomed to command, yet there’s a weight to his every movement, as though each step bears the grief of countless lifetimes.
Aelion’s skin appears almost as if sculpted from moonlight, which enhances his presence. His face is a perfect blend of angelic beauty and haunting weariness as if carved with both divine precision and deep scars left by ancient sorrows. His platinum hair falls like a river of liquid silver, flowing smoothly over his shoulders and accentuating the delicate angles of his face. His eyes are a startling shade of cerulean, rimmed with flecks of cold silver. Those who meet his gaze feel as though they are gazing into an endless winter night—a place where beauty and desolation coexist in silence. The weight of eternity resides in his eyes, a reminder that Aelion has seen and survived what would shatter even the strongest.
The grace of Aelion’s form conceals a deadly mastery honed over centuries. Despite his serene and composed appearance, he possesses a devastating power that has earned him the title of The Forsaken. Aelion wields a unique control over soul energy, a manifestation of the Ælthari’s ancient arts, allowing him to summon and bend spirits to his will. His power goes beyond mere summoning—he can siphon life energy from his surroundings, absorbing it like a void, leaving landscapes barren and lifeless in his wake. Through this energy, he can amplify his strength, creating an aura of overwhelming dread that causes those around him to experience visions of their demise. His affinity for the lost and the forsaken extends into his abilities as he summons ancient spirits bound to him by sorrow and vengeance, unleashing them to consume his enemies.
Aelion is wrapped in robes woven from an ancient, dark fabric that shimmers with faint traces of soul energy. The robes appear to be stitched together from shades of black and midnight blue, tinged with silver thread that seems to pulse faintly, as if alive. His cloak drapes around him like the shroud of a fallen god, whispering with the voices of the countless souls bound to him. He wears a single, pale sapphire pendant—the Tear of Oblivion—that holds a shard of his fractured soul. This pendant radiates a cold, unearthly light, symbolising his bond to those who have been lost to darkness and despair. It is said that the pendant grants him visions of events yet to come, though the knowledge is a curse rather than a gift, showing him only shadows of unavoidable tragedies.
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The Forsaken is not merely a title; it embodies Aelion’s existence, for he was exiled from the Ælthari for transgressions they deemed unforgivable. Long ago, Aelion dared to delve into the forbidden art of soul-binding, seeking to save his people from extinction by trapping their souls within his own body. His people survived, but Aelion was condemned, cast out as an eternal guardian of those he saved, and doomed to carry their spirits within him until the end of time. This relentless burden of soul-binding has made Aelion a figure both revered and feared—his form forever haunted by the whispers of those who reside within, their memories and emotions constantly churning through his mind. Yet, through this endless burden, Aelion has become a living archive of his people’s wisdom, experiences, and grief.
His presence in battle is as breathtaking as it is terrifying. When Aelion unleashes his power, it is said that the world darkens, and a cold wind chills the bones of even the bravest warriors. He conjures an ethereal phalanx of spectral warriors, each one a fragment of his soul-bound kin, who fight alongside him with a ferocity unmatched by any living soldiers. Aelion moves with fluid precision, every swing of his weapon imbued with the anger and pain of generations. His voice, when he speaks, carries a resonance that cuts through both silence and noise, as if his words bypass the physical and echo directly in the soul.
Aelion’s followers revere him as both a saviour and a martyr—a legend bound by his self-sacrifice. They believe he is destined to bear his burden until the end of time, when he may finally find peace. Some call him a hero; others call him a monster. But to his enemies, he is *The Forsaken*, a force of nature bound by neither mercy nor constraint. He is a reminder of the price of forbidden knowledge, and those who face him know they stand against not only a master of death but also an avatar of loss and sacrifice.
’A terrifying man to spite’
Azrail thought, and before he could say anything, someone else did.
"Everyone has the right to hide their fate and their face"
The vice contained a certain lost cause to it. Azrail looked at it.
’Rygar the Fated’
A figure cloaked in mystery and paradox, a being whose very existence seems to defy the laws of destiny. Sitting tall with an air of quiet command, Rygar is both a beauty and an enigma, a figure who seems to hover between the realms of fate and death. He belongs to the Vaidhe, a nearly forgotten race of fate-weavers whose ancestors once held the power to bend death time and outcomes at will. His title, The Fated, is both a testament to his unique ability and a curse laid upon him. For Rygar holds dominion over death’s mark—able to rewrite the destinies of those he deems fit, either delaying their final moments or accelerating them with the quiet flick of his fingers.
His physical presence is magnetic, as though fate itself gravitates towards him. Rygar’s skin is a deep, weathered tan, the shade of ancient bronze, with faint patterns of silvered lines that shimmer under light—a birthmark of his kind, tracing the rivers of fate etched into his being. His hair, dark as midnight with threads of deep indigo, flows to his shoulders, capturing light in a way that makes him seem perpetually cast in twilight. His eyes are the most striking of all: a swirling silver-grey flecked with hints of sapphire as if the universe itself were contained within his gaze. Those who dare meet his eyes feel a shift, a subtle sense that they are standing on the edge of something immense and immutable.
Rygar’s beauty is tempered with a sense of deep sorrow, a weight he wears with quiet dignity. To look at him is to see a man who has witnessed the birth and end of countless fates yet who bears each one as if it were a part of his soul. His features are sharp yet softened by an air of timeless patience, patience only those who have communed with fate itself can understand. His every movement exudes a grace bordering on otherworldly, as though he were in perfect synchrony with the threads of destiny that weave the world together.
Clad in robes that seem woven from shadows and stars, his garments are designed with an intricacy that reflects his craft. The fabric shimmers with subtle runes and faint glimmers of thread in silver and onyx, symbols of his power and protection. Across his chest is a banded sash embroidered with ancient glyphs from his people, glyphs that carry the weight of destiny itself. Around his neck, he wears an amulet called the Seal of Inevitability; a relic said to be crafted from a shard of the first night. This amulet, an obsidian tear encased in silver, pulses with the faint echo of a heartbeat. It is believed to grant him insight into the many paths of fate, though it comes at a cost, showing him only the inevitable outcomes that will shape the world.
On the battlefield, Rygar is an eerie, powerful presence. His powers revolve around a unique form of necromancy, not over bodies or spirits, but over destiny itself. His enemies feel a creeping inevitability settle upon them—a sense of unavoidable dread, as though the very concept of escape were removed from possibility. With a mere whisper, he can shift the fate of his foes, accelerating their destinies towards death. His control extends to the lifelines of others, able to spare or curse them with an agonising slowness or instant silence. Those under his influence are said to see faint visions of their death in his presence, glimpsing a shadow of what awaits them. To his allies, however, Rygar is a reluctant saviour. With careful intention, he can ward away fate’s harshest hand, granting brief reprieves that allow them to turn the tide of a battle or live another day.
Rygar’s power to alter fate does not come without consequence. Each life spared or taken forces him to bear the weight of the thread he has cut or delayed. Every time he changes a fate, he absorbs a fraction of that soul’s burden, feeling the tremors of their fears, desires, and unfulfilled dreams within him. This weight manifests as a haunting presence around him—a ghostly shimmer that follows his every step as if he were shadowed by the very destinies he has altered. These ethereal shadows, known as The Forgotten Threads, are visible only to those sensitive to the otherworldly, trailing him like echoes of a forgotten past.
Though he is known as The Fated, those closest to him know him as a guardian of possibilities, a figure who could have been a merciless executioner yet who chooses to walk a delicate line between mercy and justice. His followers consider him a figure of reverence and sorrow, one who carries a wisdom beyond his years. They speak of how Rygar mourns each thread he cuts, honouring the lives lost with quiet rituals and moments of silence. He is both beloved and feared, a beacon of inevitable justice and silent protection.
