Vescrutia: Legacy

"You are... bound still by notions such as fate or destiny," Kin said snidely, his eyes searching the ridges where his true opponent likely lurked. "These mantles you wear like proud badges are little more than... derivatives. Concepts put in place by beings who could make what they wanted a reality."

He had eyes that hovered, staring down towards Hiroshi. Soon their gaze was eye level as he descended towards the ground several meters apart.

"There is nothing truly set in stone, Hiroshi. No destiny that harkens your being here, no fate that guarantees your victory.

The silence that followed the collapse of Kinslayer's technique was thin and trembling.

Across the ruined plain, Hiroshi stood half-veiled by smoke and fading light of the Fettered Star still bleeding across the clouds above him. His breathing had steadied now. Whatever strain the layered casting inflicted upon him had already faded into the dark, restless smog of Shōsen Kōbari in his hand.

For a long moment, Hiroshi simply studied this forlorn being as he descended toward the ground. The sea of the Kurotori soldiers surrounding the two of them instinctively scurried away, despite the chasm of distance between them and the combatants. But despite their faces warped by fear at his draconic, haunting otherness, Hiroshi couldn't help.. but smile..

It was a small, subtle smile. Yet, a genuine expression of delight sparked from the sheer sight of him..

From the way he defended himself from Hiroshi's attack; manipulating darkness itself as though it were a favored cloak he donned at his leisure.. to the fashion in which he spoke— as though reality itself were a mere inheritance.. or rather, a whim of mercy he spared in jest.

He was beautiful.. Every bit the cosmic calamity he'd spent centuries studying, learning, and ultimately exalting—in both praise and disdain. Aphosis, while the antithesis to every scripture of Yaarou dogma, remained Hiroshi's golden avenue to immortality.

..for if he were to slay this dragon, this cosmic antagonist to not only the Yaarou Clan but the cosmos itself, then Hiroshi's legend would rebrand the annals of the Yaarou in his image.

“Mock her if you must..”

Hiroshi said at last, casually spinning his spear along his fingers before it settled firmly beneath his grip.

“..I've seen her face.. tasted her fruits, and witnessed her visions of granduer..”, his voice was low, carried more by intent rather than volume alone. “..now she emboldens me.. and arms me against perhaps the greatest foe known to flesh and blood.”

His grip tightened along his spear and black smoke coiled from its length like a sentient flame.

“I am not here because I believe victory is promised..” he took a slow step forward, his bare foot drawing small craters into the ground beneath him. “.. destiny is not a gift bestowed upon the worthy..” Another step. “..she is blind.. indifferent.. inevitable.. and unstoppable.”

He said, holding his head high. “This is the end for you.”

A violent seam carved itself across the heavens, tearing through smoke and clouds alike as reality itself was forced apart. The fading light of the Fettered Star warped around it, bending unnaturally as something immense pressed through.

The sound came after. A deep, collapsing distortion before a Bhalian dropship tore free from hyperspeed above Qiyoto, displacing the sky itself. The pressure alone rippled downward, flattening smoke, scattering embers, forcing even the lingering aftermath of Kinslayer’s technique to recoil.

With all things considered, it was significantly smaller than the Crimson Cloud—the previous Bhalian Warship Hitomi Yaarou blasted from the sky.

But that was because, despite the familiar flags and insignias etched along its hall, this was not merely a Bhalian Warship. It was a Mazoku Caravan.

..TSSSSSS…

The hull split open beneath a violent plume of steam, and two figures were released into the void below before the Caravan vanished into the horizon just as quickly as it appeared.

—

High above the battlefield, suspended between storm and ruin, the first of the plummeting silhouettes slowed his momentum until he came to a halt with such absolute control it seemed gravity bent to his will.

His frame was lean—deceptively so—yet wound with a density that spoke not of size, but of perfected restraint. Every muscle and line of his body looked as though they'd been sculpted through centuries of refinement and stripped of excess, leaving behind only what was necessary for execution.

A mantle of pale, auburn fur framed his form—wild in shape, yet impossibly ordered, each strand resting as though guided by unseen currents.

He was Mazoku, that much was certain, but his face bore none of the savage distortion expected of his kind.

Even now, poised above a battlefield on the brink of annihilation, his expression remained composed. Focused. Sharp.

And yet..

He was young.

There was no weight of erosion upon him, no lingering echo of centuries endured. He bore no wounds, blemishes or scars to testify to his glory in combat. And still—

The air bent around him.

Subtle distortions rippled outward from his vascular form, space itself folding ever so slightly in quiet obedience to his will.

In his grasp rested a staff—longer than his own body by nearly half, forged of vermillion colored steel and etched with faint, glowing script. Its surface bore marks—thousands upon thousands of them, layered upon one another through relentless use.

At his waist and shoulders, bands of gold armament wrapped his frame with several along his tail. Each piece is placed with purpose. Each weight accounted for. While behind him, a length of crimson cloth drifted endlessly, suspended as though caught in a wind that did not exist.

Then his eyes opened low. Golden and unwavering. And in that gaze, there was no malice.

Only assessment.

This was Rao.

—

The second did not slow.

He fell like a blistering comet—or a cosmic gavel that struck Qiyoto with a force that echoed out to the waves of the Freshwater Sea.

The ground liquefied instantly beneath him as a cataclysmic detonation of pressure erupted outward.. The earth surged, folded, and shattered into molten upheaval as the shockwave tore through the battlefield, collapsing buildings in cascading ruin, uprooting acres of stone and terrain, all while hurling entire ranks of Kurotori into the air.

Their initial barriers raised by the Yaarou sages were demolished in an instant—

But immediately, squadrons of AION Sentinels mobilized just quickly.

In perfect unison, they surged into position. And within seconds of the ensuing peril, layered barriers surged into existence, their formations aligning with engineered perfection that isolated the combatants from the Kurotori/ Inkuki warriors

The collective of soldiers fled beneath protective constructs as the shockwave crashed against their surfaces in violent, rippling waves.

And at the epicenter of the chaos, molten stone churned and spat from the massive crater that started it all—trembling as something within it shifted.

And soon, that something emerged from the liquified ruin.. a behemoth whose frame dwarfed everything around him. It rose, a towering monument of azure fur and ancient power. Wounds—old and new—mapped its body like scripture, each one a testament to its separate era of devastation.

His face was ravaged—gashes torn across sightless white eyes that had not known light for centuries.. And across his mouth, was a ceremonial muzzle binding him in restraint.

This was G'hor.. and as inhaled, the shattered city of Qiyoto literally shuddered around him

–

Rao descended slowly — watching intently as to how these humans would react to the arrival of a Mazoku Executioner.. let alone two. And while it was laughable, watching them skitter and scatter—fetid with fear, he found no amusement in his duty today.

His expression was dejected as his gaze swept the already decimated city, looking around as if he expected to find something—anything that warranted him being here.. among the putrid slime of the Vescrutian food chain. But he was left wanting..

“...”

Where G'hor harkened from an era more than satisfied in the slaughter of their enemies, Rao's reputation was more akin to that of a warrior rather than the Executioner. He exalted the thrill of victory of course, but it was the effort, pain, and refinement found in glory that he truly relished in.

And when he had been told that a force existed capable of slaying Kuran—the Merciless, a relic of a bygone era—he had expected resistance.

And to hear that he would face a clan of warriors strong enough to fell Kuran, The Merciless—a titan of bygone era, Rao was prepared to test his mettle. He expected resistance. Opposition. Warriors. But he found no warriors here.. only humans.. only..

“Insects..” Was all he said, and the word carried across the battlefield like a scathing gust. “..by decree of our Zenith, a reckoning is upon you.”

He said, casually gesturing toward a city that already seemed tattered from warfare prior to their arrival. But whatever domestic dispute or civil unrest they were preoccupied with, it would take a back seat to a Bhalian Incursion.

His gaze swept the mass of armored faces beneath him until his gaze fell upon Kinslayer, and immediately, he could feel an otherworldly power emanating from his form. This was supposed to be a Kingdom preoccupied by mortals and humans, and Kinslayer was anything but. It piqued his interest to say the least.

“Your mound of dirt has been sanctioned for oblivion.” Rao continued,glaring directly at Kinslayer as if he were the only creature here that deserved his attention. “.. However, in honor of our fallen slain by your blades, you will be granted the right to summon your champion in your defense.”

He paused, eyes narrowing into a blistering moons.

“Send forth your Xhi’on..” the crimson cloth at his back stirred in the air as he tilted his staff toward the clamoring crowd. “But make no mistake.. Upon her death, none of you will be spared.”

The crimson gleam of the Fetted Star curse had finally begun to fade, bleeding into the blackened horizon like a dying ember. Kinslayer stood across from Hiroshi Yaarou; though a league separated their positions, the tension coiling between them made it feel as though they stood face to face. He remained bronzed, unscathed, and undaunted—every bit the draconic demon his form suggested. His armor, Kuroi Ryu's scaled pattern, gleamed like living anti-light wafting from his very being. His eyes remained hidden behind the black dragon mask's ocular visor, analyzing Hiroshi's compositions with predatory precision.

Despite the relentless barrage of curse after curse that Hiroshi had hurled at him, the fatigue that should have racked Hiroshi's body had mysteriously subsided. This confirmation only reinforced his suspicion. The Yaarou Warlock possessed an uncanny healing factor of his own—regeneration that rivaled the very curses he wielded. There was only one means Kinslayer could conceive to counteract this trait, yet he doubted his countermeasure would prove effective enough to grant him the upper hand required to land a fatal blow.

Here he stood, a founding pillar of the clan that had disgraced his people, that had mutilated his family to power their arcana. Now they assailed him with curse after curse, one sentence of damnation after another. Still, Kinslayer persisted. His very existence itself was authority—a living decree that reflected what divine retribution could create when fueled by enough hatred to mold flesh and will into something beyond human recognition.

Whether governed by fate, destiny, or some seamstress from around the way, no single force on this planet would forestall his judgment or prevent him from taking what was his to claim. He would be the blade upon which Xhi'on, Hitomi Yaarou, would fall. Hiroshi, by comparison, was merely a deterrent—an ancient, powerful, and incomprehensibly resourceful adversary, but one nonetheless.

As much as Kinslayer typically enjoyed stalling out his battles, toying with his prey until the absolute moment where victory could be delayed no longer, Hiroshi might prove a foe requiring rather more intention. Just as he raised his head to speak his defiance, the sky—still bruised subtly by the Fetted Star's cardinal glare—began to split apart. The very fabric of heaven tore asunder, and from the rupture, an immense aircraft emerged, its hull carved with markings that sent ice rippling down Kinslayer's spine.

"B'halia," he breathed, the word carrying both recognition and dread.

As if navigating a battle against an immortal Warlock wasn't trial enough, the arrival of this incursion transformed the situation from complex to virtually impossible. There was no shore or sea across the mother who had not heard of B'halia's power, and even fewer who had not lived in fear since it launched its anti-human campaign a little under a year ago. Edo, twice now, had its earth darkened by the shadows of their forces. But this time, Kinslayer caught the dread creeping up his spine that the true battle for Edo's salvation had just arrived.

From the ship, which began retreating into the void that birthed it, a lean primate emerged. The power coruscating around its slender frame alerted Kinslayer instantly to its nature. He had never laid eyes on one personally, but from the reports and data logs he had studied, he recognized the creature instantly.

"A Mazoku...No."

Kuro's scan picked up on not one but...

"Two of them..."

The second Mazoku descended like a blistering comet—or a cosmic gavel that struck Qiyoto with a force that echoed out to the waves of the Freshwater Sea. The ground liquefied instantly beneath the impact as a cataclysmic pressure wave erupted outward. The shockwave of his arrival tore across the battlefield like a living thing, hurling warriors and leveling structures in its path. Kinslayer reacted instinctively, his will crystallizing into action as he forged a heavily reinforced barrier of dark metal in the shape of an oscillating black serpent. The construct wound around him, its scales pulsating with kinetic displacement properties that turned the cataclysmic force aside, protectively coiling as molten earth and shattered stone erupted around his position.

So this was the power of a Mazoku. No, this was just a byproduct of one landing. He was sure that this wasn't even a tenth of the creature's true might.

Where G'hor harkened from an era more than satisfied in the slaughter of their enemies, Rao's reputation was more akin to that of a warrior rather than the Executioner. He exalted the thrill of victory of course, but it was the effort, pain, and refinement found in glory that he truly relished in.

And when he had been told that a force existed capable of slaying Kuran—the Merciless, a relic of a bygone era—he had expected resistance.

And to hear that he would face a clan of warriors strong enough to fell Kuran, The Merciless—a titan of bygone era, Rao was prepared to test his mettle. He expected resistance. Opposition. Warriors. But he found no warriors here.. only humans.. only..

“Insects..” Was all he said, and the word carried across the battlefield like a scathing gust. “..by decree of our Zenith, a reckoning is upon you.”

He said, casually gesturing toward a city that already seemed tattered from warfare prior to their arrival. But whatever domestic dispute or civil unrest they were preoccupied with, it would take a back seat to a Bhalian Incursion.

His gaze swept the mass of armored faces beneath him until his gaze fell upon Kinslayer, and immediately, he could feel an otherworldly power emanating from his form. This was supposed to be a Kingdom preoccupied by mortals and humans, and Kinslayer was anything but. It piqued his interest to say the least.

“Your mound of dirt has been sanctioned for oblivion.” Rao continued,glaring directly at Kinslayer as if he were the only creature here that deserved his attention. “.. However, in honor of our fallen slain by your blades, you will be granted the right to summon your champion in your defense.”

He paused, eyes narrowing into a blistering moons.

“Send forth your Xhi’on..” the crimson cloth at his back stirred in the air as he tilted his staff toward the clamoring crowd. “But make no mistake.. Upon her death, none of you will be spared.”

When the violence subsided and the dust began to settle, Kinslayer stood unmoved, his serpentine barrier dissolving like morning mist. He faced the two Mazoku executioners—titans who had come to eradicate all he sought to destroy—and felt not fear, but cold purpose.

This was his hunt, the Yaarou his prey; he would not have his quarry stolen from him. Yet even with all his power, even the bearer of the Djynn of chaos could acknowledge the difficulty facing two mazoku alone could pose to him. The black dragon's mask revealed Kinslayer's face as well as his burning violet gaze.

"Hmp...You hear that, Hiroshi?" Kinslayer replied, his voice carrying across the ruined battlefield with quiet finality. He raised his hand coily under his chin as darkness pooled at his feet. "It seems your leader has guest..."

It was deeper than merely being the one to vanquish the Yaarou. That task, despite how personally vindicative it was, remained a means to the end of protecting his people and his land. B'halia stood for the complete eradication of humanity and the total subjugation of Vescrutia. To the end, Kinslayer casually turned his gaze to Hiroshi. Then again, on the other hand, he could always retreat and let the Maozko oblige the Yaarou and sweep in after all parties had been weakened and devour them all in a banquet of black.

But where would be the fun in that? APhosis's parting words regarding Hitomi's strength came to mind. How it admonished him that his power at the time had yet to reach hers. Her legend, forged from her own exploits of slaying a Mazoku, was the whole reason B'halia was here. He needed to witness it for himself. The power these "Executioners" possess...and prove that both it, and Hitomi paled in comparison to his abilities.

"If it's Hitomi Yaarou you're after."

The pool of ebony liquid at his feet solidified into several coiling serpents of Ophidian. That he would even be mistaken for a Yaarou servant was enough cause for him to slaughter them. It was an insult they were no doubt ignorant of.

"Then I'm afraid you'll have to take a number and get in line. She, and all that shares her blood, are my quarry."

Two of the legion of snakes summoned at his feet coiled up his legs, finding refuge in his palms. He gripped onto them, prompting their forms to shift, morphing into a pair of Wakizashi. Spark began to dance around his form once more. The effects of the Fetted Star no longer hinder his faculties.

He fell like a blistering comet—or a cosmic gavel that struck Qiyoto with a force that echoed out to the waves of the Freshwater Sea.

The ground liquefied instantly beneath him as a cataclysmic detonation of pressure erupted outward.. The earth surged, folded, and shattered into molten upheaval as the shockwave tore through the battlefield...

G’hor descended upon Qiyoto like a god of ruin, and the world burst apart upon impact.

A tidal wave of catastrophic force tore across the battlefield, liquefying stone, uprooting entire sections of the city, and hurling Kurotori soldiers into the air like ash caught in a storm.

But as the devastation approached Hiroshi, he did not flee.

Instead, he casually lowered the butt of Shōsen Kōbari against the fractured earth beneath him.

..Tap.

The sound was soft.. Almost delicate.

Yet instantly, blackened sigils erupted outward from the spear’s point of contact, racing across the ground in spiraling patterns before surging upward into a hemispheric barrier of obsidian light around him.

The concussive force washed over the dome in violent ripples, screaming against its surface hard enough to crater the ground beneath him, yet Hiroshi himself remained perfectly still within its protection.

Watching.. Waiting.

His crimson gaze slowly lifted toward the heavens where Rao hovered amongst the smoke-laden clouds. And immediately, Hiroshi could feel it. Beyond the immense level of power emanating from him, it was his restraint. That exquisite air of control folded into every breath and motion that drew Hiroshi's attention.

He spent centuries studying the Bhalian Empire. Studying Mazoku. Their culture. Their wars. As well as the unbelievable power of their exalted Executioners.. And throughout every account, myth and surviving testimony, one truth remained consistent above all else:

The Mazoku were creatures of excess. Living calamities defined by overwhelming force and instinctual dominion.

And yet..

This one before him.. This Mazoku whose presence did not thrash wildly against the world around him like some rabid beast drunk on its own supremacy, intrigued him more than he cared to admit. Hiroshi had never seen one before with his own eyes, but even he could infer that Rao one was different. He was refined.. Dangerously so. Hiroshi would be sure to take extra care in his approach..

It was then that his gaze shifted downward. Toward G’hor. And immediately, something primal in Hiroshi recoiled.

The massive creature stood emerged from his scorched crater like a monument dragged from the oldest nightmares of creation itself. There was no elegance to him. No allure. Only violence. A cruel, ancient kind that predated human kingdoms. The kind that civilizations were forced to build walls around simply to survive..

The air around him reeked of death, blood, and an unbearable musk steeped into his fur through eons of slaughter in service to the Empire.

“So, you have arrived.. interlopers." Hiroshi murmured softly from the confines of his barrier, sneering at the foreign titans of war. But despite the fury beginning to coil behind his eyes, his posture never shifted. His expression was undeterred.

Even now—with Kinslayer looming nearby like some cosmic aberration clothed in darkness and murderous intent—Hiroshi remained strangely at ease.

As though this moment had been approaching him all his life, and the gods themselves had prepared him to face it head on .

“..it would seem even you have your roles to play in her grand design.”

–

Beyond Hiroshi’s barrier, panic consumed what remained of the Yaarou military.

The surviving Kurotori forces were huddled desperately behind the luminous protection of the AION sentinel barriers, and many were still trembling from the aftermath of G’hor’s impact. Soldiers clamored over one another searching for survivors beneath rubble and debris while others simply stared outward in horror at the two colossal silhouettes now occupying the battlefield.

..the mere sight of the Mazoku Executioners hollowed courage from the hearts of even veteran soldiers. Because every man and woman of the Kurotori had been trained since their indoctrination on one unwavering principle regarding the world's foremost superpower in the Bhalian Empire:

"..If you are to ever encounter a Mazoku Executioner, your orders are to flee immediately.."

These beings were not considered warriors, monsters, or highly profile threats.. They were classified as living weapons of mass destruction. And unless you were the Xhi’on herself, engaging one in battle was a certified death sentence.

“Oi!! ALL EYES ON ME!” Mitsuko’s voice erupted through the chaos as she vaulted atop a collapsed transport vehicle with Commander Keiko slung over her shoulder. “All surviving personnel evacuate the district immediately!”

Urgency strained through her every word.

“Prioritize the wounded!! Fall back beyond the southern sectors toward the bunkers beneath the Palace!!”

Nearby commanders echoed her orders frantically.

“ALL HANDS!! FALL BACK AND RETREAT!!"

“EXECUTIVE ORDERS, MEN!! DO NOT ENGAGE!! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!!”

And with trained synchronization, the Yaarou military began their defensive migration away from the battlefield beneath the protection of the AION sentinels.

–

“…Send us your Xhi’on.”

Rao’s declaration lingered over the battlefield like an imperial sentence. His crimson sash trailing from his frame drifted slowly as his punitive gaze surveyed the masses beneath.

They had returned of course because of Hitomi.

Because one human girl had ripped their mighty warship from the sky and slaughtered thousands of vaunted soldiers with her bare hands. Including one of their sacred Executioners.

Now, Bhalia had come to collect its vengeance. Though, not blindly.. like some wicked storm of righteous rage. They came bearing the cross of a code—And in that brief silence, Hiroshi couldn't help but smile..

“To be so powerful, yet bound by some ritualistic affinity for restraint.. honor.. mercy..” He laughed softly beneath his breath.

At last, he stepped forward from the barrier as fragments of blackened light dissolved around him. His spear rested in his grasp while smoke coiled endlessly from its length.

“You are too late. The woman you seek circles death as speak. In moments, her injuries will claim her.. but her fate means little.”

A stillness followed those words. One thickened with tension and darkened implications..

Even the Kurotori seemed shaken by hearing them spoken aloud. Whether or not they were true was up for debate, considering no one had seen her face following her defeat of the FrostJack elf several months ago. Regardless, the Yaarou soldiers hung on Hiroshi's every word as he continued walking forward.

“Now that I am whole, and restored to my full strength, the child has been surpassed. I am Xhi'on now.”

He exclaimed coldly as he tightened his grip about his spear, his gaze bouncing between the three apocalyptic figures amassed at the Yaarou doorstep.

“…and your words of mercy are wasted here.”

High above the ruined district, Rao's golden eyes regarded Hiroshi in silent focus. He listened to the Yaarou warrior speak, but his narrowed gaze seemed as if he were staring through him rather than at him. And in truth, he was.

Through the use of Shinjutsu, practitioners could physically discern the oscillating ebb and flow of natural energy. And through proper mastery, they could augment their own sensory capabilities to otherworldly levels.

For Rao, such perception required little to no effort. It was instinct—a feat as natural to him as drawing air.

And as Hiroshi spoke, Rao was dissecting him completely; analyzing breathing patterns, his heartrate, even the pesky nearly imperceptible twinge of his muscles tensing between every other word. Whatever deception Hiroshi intended to uphold, his body had betrayed him long before he ever opened his mouth.

“You're lying.”

The statement landed without emotion. No anger accompanied it, because anger would imply doubt or a sense of betrayal.

Rao possessed neither. And though dishonesty was contemptible, Rao found it painfully appropriate.

“..how human.” Yaarou had not been described as merely powerful.

No—She had been described as otherworldly. Unprecedented in every aspect of the word.

She was a human girl, capable of tearing warships from the heavens, slaughtering droves of Bhalian infantry, as well as slaying a Mazoku Executioner in mortal combat.

And Hiroshi—

Despite the monstrous pressure radiating from his artifacts, he did not resemble the cataclysmic foe Rao had been promised.

“Whatever your motives— be they moral or hubristic.. You cannot protect her.” He said plainly. “You and your trinkets will barely deter our judgment..”

He continued, slowly descending closer to the ground. His eyebrows furrowed in contempt. “..but if she is so weak..” His voice cooled. “..so afraid,that she would choose you to fight in her stead, then so be it.

His vermillion staff tilted slightly toward the ruined city sprawling behind Hiroshi.

“Your death will be the first of many, but I have been charged with killing every living thing on this rotten mound of dirt.”

The lower he descended to the ground, the higher Rao's Naten began to spike. In moments, his output of energy had begun to distort space around him.

“Every single one of you will answer for her crimes.. No stone will be left unturned. No corpse left unscorched. And once I find her, buried beneath her fear and debris, I will adorn her severed skull at the steps of my Emperor's throne.”

Silence followed. A heavy, suffocating silence before Rao’s gaze shifted past Hiroshi.

Toward Kinslayer.

“..and you?”

The strange being stood amidst drifting ruin and shadow alike, his unnatural stillness contrasting sharply against the chaos consuming the battlefield. Rao studied him only briefly, his declaration lingered faintly in the air between them.

He too was an enemy of the Yaarou, and it would seem he was prepared to assert his claim to their lives.

Rao regarded him with complete indifference.

“.. you can die alongside them.”

The response was immediate.

And with nothing more than a small motion of his fingers, he gave G'hor a signal— The go ahead, for a lack of better word, to do what it is that he does best. And Kinslayer's draconic face had been his target.

The dwarfing behemoth moved instantly. The ground exploded beneath his colossal body as he launched himself forward with horrifying speed.

Ghoe was upon his prey in the blink of an eye, leading his onslaught with his enormous fist roaring toward Kinslayer's skull. The force behind his haymaker carved trenches across the battlefield hundreds of feet away from the length of arm, uprooting earth and soil in a tidal wave of power.