The Corruption's Story

"You know Lazarus Grey? How amusing. He will be the first to suffer, so he can know at your core you are a foul, rotten creature. Whisper of another world, you see, she once claimed the Corruption. I didn't know her. Of course I didn't. But she gave herself to the foul god Lzothozsh, and she was a very devout, and her actions as the Corruption lead to the destruction of my world."

"Only I and my aid, Tiriel, survived, fleeing here. But I would not let the opportunity pass up. I was determined to see you suffer the same as I did. You destroyed everything, Whisper. You destroyed my world."

"Yes. Revenge." He marched towards her, blade twirling in one hand, then grasped by two. "But it matters not what you say or do. I have had time... So long to think over what you did and the horrors you unleashed on my world. On our battles. On the nightmares you inflicted upon me. Of the constant torment I suffered. The isolation. The lost friends."

"My entire existence is dedicated to your end." And with that he pranced forth. One, two, effiminate leaps, landing delicately on his toes and spinning into a twirl, his large rectangular blade whipping around his body more like an addition to his body than a weapon he held.

"My pleasure," the Lazarus answered as he progressed towards her, now leaping once more with utter grace of ballet, landing near her a swiping his blade upwards for Whisper's hip to shoulder, a light slash, mostly meant to throw his momentum up and over so he could kick his legs and spin in the air backwards.

Always the spectacle fighter, Lazarus body twisted, lying horizontally and spinning upwards, plam directed to the end of the spear to direct it over him, followed by tossing his own body into a roll for Whisper's feet.

His body moved just ever so slightly to evade the spear, piercing clothing just between his arm and torso. His hand rose to wrap around the pole, now lifting himself up as if it were a pole, spinning around it and rising to face her. He kept his grip firm, though, as if trying to pin it down,

Flesh pierced by ice Lazarus let out a cry of pain, but did not break his movement, now dropping his weight backwards into a roll to pluck the spear from the ground in his hand, casting legs over his shoulder a moment ater to rise to his feet, then posing with blade to once side and spear held across his back.

He liked not unlike a swan, other than the blood trickling from his pale hand.

He stalked forward, wielding the two weapons in an impractical fashion, but was hardly concerned. His eyes trailed her chain, following the drifting patterns, and then with a sharp jerk he hurled the spear, body spinning with the throw, aiming not for Whisper herself but to intercept the chain.

This would lead him into a dash forth, prancing as he did, movements quick and lively as his blade sung for her shoulder.

His back was rarely seen for more than a second. True, even as he passed through her he skidded to a halt on his light feet and turned. Even as he turned his weapon lashed out, as if trying to slash her escaping form, only to clash with the spear sent after him to deflect it off the platform and to oblivion.

"My dance died," he answered, the hollowness of his voice matching his soul. Above, around and all over the black shifted to reveal the scenes, a million memories abound in his mind. When he first met Whisper, the violence that broke out between the two, Whisper soaked black in the form of the Corruption.

People dying in her name. Praying to her. Sacrifice for her. Corruption spreading. Innocence lost. Cities razed and burned, most oftenly with people still in it. Corpses strung up in the shape of an eye.

"No... Not just revenge. I remember... I remember I came because I had to stop you." He let out a bitter laugh, a laugh of defeat. "But the Corruption corroded my soul. And left me with nothing but hate."

Balthazar's fist slammed against the oozing black tar, but it had no visible effect against the blackened goop. Still, grappling with an invisible enemy wasn't ideal in the best of situations. Blindly, he began lashing out with his feet, breathing hard against the mask.

"Get... the fuck... off," he grunted.

Still, the sword began to slip into the clutches of his enemy.

Balthazar's half-torn form now raised both boots, pressing them into the body of Tycho and giving a great heave and push with his hands. His goal was so close in sight. And for all intents and purposes he seemed just as night-killable as Tycho, though one would assume if you tore his hands to pieces he probably wouldn't be able to grip things... And said hands were firmly locked on the sword.

And then it was wrenched free, jerked suddenly away from Tycho and held triumphantly by the invisible man, which meant it vanished with him, leaving only bare touches still on Tycho. The spawn, for what it was worth, stood absolutely uselessly to the side.

Shit.

Tycho lurched to his feet, then, lunging for the spot where Balthazar disappeared to with the sword, and stopped short; his lips frowning under the black goop for an instant, thinking.

"It'll be up to you. I'll keep it locked in a psychic battle, but it's up to you to get inside and kill it while it's unaware. It will be protected though I'm certain, but I'm sure you can handle it."

He'd lost this battle; he'd lost the sword that could, in all likelihood, defeat the woman locked in the battle.

But the war?

Tycho dashed forwards, grabbing at the sword Balthazar had discarded. With a single glance backwards towards the woman in the shield, Tycho charged into the Portal.

One last chance to do good.

---

Whisper's brow furrowed and she turned her head to the side, momentarily disoriented by the onslaught of images flooding her mind. She pushed it from her thoughts though, turning back to stare down the Corruption once more.

"Ironic then, that you would become that which you hate so much, and it would be I who has come to destroy you?" she asked.

"Come then, let's finish this."

That was as far as she got though, before she stiffened, her lips parting in shock as her chain slipped from her grasp to land at her feet. She glanced down, blood welling from her chest, soaking into her clothes. She raised a questioning look to the Corruption as the strength began to simply seep out of her. How did he? No he couldn't have. Something must have gone wrong upon the bluff, something beyond her perception.

"Finish we shall," Lazarus voice cooly answered, one-two delicate prancing steps forwards, blade trailing behind his right side. A fist raised on his left, throwing a fleeting amount of energy for her feet to sweep them, only for him to lunge fully forth with his shovel-tipped blade, swinging it much like a bat as he flew into an elegant spin and unleashed a cry of exertion. The lack of air in this realm meant nothing slowed the blade on its path towards Whisper, and everything he had was thrown into the attack.

He had noticed her momentary weakening and was taking full advantage of it.

She didn't register the sword, or the blow struck. The only sense of awareness she retained after he had closed in on her was the sensation of falling. Falling for what felt like an eternity, facing nothing but the abyss all around. Hope would be fleeting as wind rushed past. The platform they had stood on soon grew distant. All was lost. All was over.

Until a hand snagged Whisper's wrist. What Lazarus was doing there was anyone's mystery, but he tilted his head thoughtfully and offered a happy smile. He was bent down, not unlike a small mammal, with one arm extended over the side of an invisible platform to grasp her.

He tutted, then started lifting up, guiding Whisper to his level. "Now now, that's not fair," he said, grin suddenly changing from happy to goofy, "You were winning!"

"Lazarus?" Whisper asked, her brow furrowing in confusion. As he pulled her up, she let him take her weight against him, in a brief hug to blot out the fear that had gripped her heart while she had descended towards oblivion. "Lazarus, what are you doing here." Relief outweighed reason, or perhaps it was simply instinct that told her everything was okay. Or was it. Relief turned to sorrow as she glanced down at a blood stained hand. "Remember how I told you that I always make it back in the end, and not to worry?" she asked, a slight smile upon her lips. "I may owe you an apology on that one."

His eyes drifted about the room and he gave a sheepish shrug. "I think you've made it to me just fine, I think. I also think right now the most important thing is helping you get back up there. Didn't I always say you could rely on me?" He offered her possibly the happiest smiles he ever had. He was helping. Genuinely. It made him proud. "But... I don't think you can quite reach with my boost alone. Maybe there are some others higher up?"

Lurking above was none other than two spawns. Wait... No it was one. The other was just a featureless blob with a mask, who stood with a very human posture and made every effort to contrast to the spawn intentionally, which seemed to be staring in an amused fashion. The two could be reached, but only if they too reached down, or if Lazarus in turn gave her a boost up to them. Shaded waved and bent down, offering a hand to her.

"I don't understand," Whisper remarked. "How?" She glanced overhead, but part of her was hesitant to leave Lazarus' side, to return to what lay above.

"Did you think you would have to do this alone?" Shaded inquired, "You have more allies close to you than you seem to think." Lazarus only offered a cheery chuckle, reaching out an arm over Whisper's shoulder to hug her, then reaching up for the hand to take it. "Ew, its like squeezing a sea sponge!" he declared.

The spawn seemed to snap out of its dazed amusement, also offering a hand down. Well, after all, there wasn't much chance of Shaded lifting them both on his own.

"I can't go back up there," Whisper replied with a shake of her head. "I wasn't ready, his mind is too powerful, too full of rage. It's over Lazarus."

He tilted his head thoughtfully, then looked up towards the platform. "He comes from a different world," he stated simply, "And for whatever reason the Whisper in that world chose to join the Corruption. Otherwise he wouldn't be the Corruption. But you never joined the Corruption. You always fought and tried and battled against it. I pretended not to notice, but you were always sticking your chin out and being brave, even when the entire world was against you."

"He said the Corruption made him hate-filled. He made it sound like he went through the same things you did. But he turned into a bad guy and you never did. I think... You're actually much stronger than him. I think you're the single strongest person I know."

Whisper looked up again, at the hand just waiting for her to reach out and take it. Sometimes it was just easier to fall, and keep on falling. Climbing back up was always the hard part, but Lazarus' words gave her heart. She could feel it then, a stirring of the others within her consciousness.

"Thank you, Lazarus," Whisper replied softly before taking hold of the offered hand, and for once the clammy blob of black ooze didn’t fill her with revulsion.

The two would be hoisted up to the next level, but tragically they still weren't high enough. Lazarus let out a sigh, staring about. "That won't do at all," he said, arm slipping from Whisper's shoulder down to hold her hand. "We need to go higher." He turned his head back to Whisper with a smile, then laughed, tugging on her hand further out onto the platform in the air. "Up there!" he urged, pointing, "I spy another platform! Goo brothers, could you give us a boost?"

Despite Lazarus' cheery demeanor, Whisper's expression hardened as she looked upon Shaded, but perhaps it was time to let go of the past. "I don't think I can ever forgive you for what you did, but I understand it. What you did to me, it was no different than what I did to Tycho."

She offered her hand out to him, a simple gesture of goodwill to let go of old hatred to see this task done.

Shaded turned to face her for a moment, then nodded. "We aren't always in control of our actions. But we are allowed to regret what we want." He reached out to accept her hand in his.

To the spawn, Whisper turned next. "Perhaps you were judged too hastily for the origins of your creation, as one once sought to judge me for the same." Looking then to the platform overhead, she nodded. "I think I'm ready."

The spawn hesitated, then offered a thumbs up. Both spawn and Shaded moved to put their hands together, a boost for two feet. Then followed by Lazarus stepping onto them and looking over his shoulder to Whisper. "We can't all reach," he said apologetically, but in a comforting tone, "But remember that even if you fall we'll all be down here to catch again. And again. Until you finally beat him. Okay?" He patted his back.

"Climb on and they'll boost you up, then you can probably reach from my shoulders."

Whisper looked up and began the climb to the platform. It was slow progress as she dragged herself up, rolling onto her back to stare overhead. The wound her physical body had sustained was severe, her spiritual strength waning, but she couldn't afford to look to herself until she saw this through.

We're all here.

The words came unbidden to her, a feeling more than anything. Whisp's conviction, Pythia's hatred and loathing of the Corruption, Alessia's knowing smile - the priestess had always been the wisest of them all, perhaps this had all been her doing from the start. Jacquelyn was near as well, regret coloring her mind, but for once Airlia's hatred of the woman was tempered with a fuller understanding.

She nodded. "Together then."

Rising to her feet, she reached up to grab hold of the final platform, swinging herself up to the top. Rising back to her feet, she stood firm before the Corruption once more.

He stood before the Whisper united, a cold hateful stare on his face. But it wasn't just hate. It was fear. He was afraid for perhaps the first time. He had thrown everything at her. Absolutely everything. And now he was facing a terrifying force. A band of women united against him. It made his skin crawl.

He took a hesitant step backwards, lacking any words. He had no answers. No taunts. No spirit crushing talks. He stood with only a swallow to try and calm his oddly dry throat.

"What, no retort?” Whisper asked. “You should know better than most that only a dancer could defeat me.” Holding her hand to one side, her staff once more came into being.

As she sprang into motion she was met with fierce opposition as the Corruption sought to redouble his efforts to keep her at bay. Tendrils of Corruption goop came out of the darkness from all sides, but each was met with swift evasion. Where The Corruption was a picture of raw fury, Whisper was artistry in motion. Weaving and twisting with all the finesse of a dancer, she felled the tendrils one by one. Gouts of flame and ice stopped them in their tracks, and ripples of telekinetic blasts shattered the frozen goop into shrapnel that shredded still more.

Figures jumped from beyond to land atop the platform, faces and images she knew. Alrion, Malachi, even Lazarus, but each was subdued with vicious reprisal and a swift end at the hands of Whisper. Other creatures descended upon her with wild abandon, faceless forms of black goop that took on the shapes of beasts and fiends, but Whisper met them with unwavering resolve. Her weapon shifted as fluidly as her body, adapting to her movements and form, shredding and rending the creatures as swiftly as they could hurl themselves upon her. In a final flurry of motion, she whipped her weapon about to force the creatures back, while with a wave of her free hand, runic wards spread across the area. As the wards lit up, they drove the inky black creatures back into the darkness that lay beyond the platform.

She could feel it then, the unbridled rage and fury of the Corruption as she met everything he threw at her. It drew her like a moth to flame. Wheeling about, Whisper descending upon the Corruption itself. The clash of weapons filled the air as they twisted and turned, each trying to gain some upper hand over the other, neither giving ground. As the battle grew in fervor, their surroundings seemed to shrink in, darkness slowly encroaching upon their location. Even the platform faded from view until they fought in darkness with only a small beam of light to illuminate them both.

Images assaulted the Corruption's mind, disoriented flashes of faces, places and memories of long ago. All that Whisper had endured at his hands rose to the surface to flay his mind as surely as any weapon could. The battered weariness as his cultists dogged her heels every step of the way, the nightmares, the pain of battles come and gone. He would feel the knife in hand as Pythia sought to rid herself of the images that haunted her mind. The convictions and will of not one mind, but five minds had come to bear down upon him, and with his senses assaulted from all directions, it would seem that Whisper had gained the upper hand.

In a final violent clash, the pair locked weapons, meeting one another’s gaze - both battle weary. Where fear and rage made up the mind of the Corruption, only a light smile graced Whisper's lips before she shoved herself back. Tumbling free she came to land in a guarded crouch, her weapon shifting fluidly into the Staff of the Corruption once more. The Corruption's fear fed her conviction as she brought her weapon around in front of her and drove it into the platform upon which they stood. Cracks appeared along its surface, fragmenting as it began to crumble and give way beneath the Corruption's feet.

A lone hand gripped the edge.

He breathed slowly, eyes drifting up as he tried to lift, but the strength wasn't there. He could hear her footsteps now and fear panged in his chest. His chin began to quiver as he lifted his head, and he could see her. The creature of his nightmares. His great fear. His most hated enemy. The one who destroyed his world. Coming right for him.

With a whimper his grip slipped and he fell, tumbling into the oblivion that lay below.