The Imperium was a place of legend. Time itself seemed to bend and break within its walls. Veils thinned, secrets whispered on the breeze, and the potential to reshape reality hung heavy in the air. Towering pillars of crystal, each etched with the fundamental Principles of the Imperium - Primal Energy, Seeds of Spring, Conflict, Courage, Intuition, and Ambition - ringed the central crystal. These pillars radiated a raw, untamed power, a chorus of forces yearning to be harnessed.
“To come to this place, awakened now to what its potential can produce…my ears able to discern its song. I must say…I did not expect to be so moved….nor this anxious”
Amrit was silent, something that rarely ever happened. The fox spirit was normally quite the opinionated chatterbox, but as they ventured ever closer to the courts Inari could sense the familiar’s trepidation. It too found itself overcome with spurts of anxiety and desire. Eager to see what form it might yet take….and what more it might become. Theorizing many possibilities it saw itself as a blade, a whip, or even claws.
“Be still, Amrit, let us see, what the shape of will will yield…”
He stepped into the heart of the Tamist Wing, the Court Of Blades, and time seemed to come to a halt. The world around him sharpened, details he'd never noticed before springing into stark relief. The air crackled with anticipation. This was it. He closed his eyes, focusing inward, seeking the dormant power within. Years of rigorous training, countless battles, and the constant, gnawing guilt all came rushing into him. It was like being tossed into a roaring, oscillating ocean of force.
“Ngh!”
Amidst the swarm of emotions, he focused on envisioning Amrit and what it had come to symbolize to him. In its infant stage Amrit was an unruly and petulant creature, susceptible to the madness of his curse it clawed at his sanity and forced him into spurts of violence and blood thirst. A creature of chaos, of gluttonous destruction. But as Inari continued to navigate his often twisted path Amrit continued to become more aware and gradually evolved as his host.
“I…was afraid to gaze upon you. An abyss staring back at me. You who were a reflection of the perversions of my spirit. A smile in the dark, a twisting of my soul… you thrashed, clawed, consumed. Your viciousness, your desire to rend terrified me. Because to accept that these feelings were my own, I thought it would mean...submission. Submission to the possibility that death and chaos would be all that I could sow in this world…”
As Inari contemplated his experience with Amrit his chest began to emanate a powerful red aura.
“But then… I learned that your nature…our nature, was more complex than I was able to comprehend. This burning hatred in my soul, the unyielding wrath was a malefic inheritance from a creature that was pride incarnate. My desire to become the most powerful saw me reap the lives of so many.”
At that moment, as the guilt began to surface his crimson mana began to solidify producing his CORE. From is a massive furious incarnation of Amrit appeared.
"When I was at my lowest when faced with nothing but a crimson void before me...it was you who anchored me, you who kept me tethered....it was you Amrit who encouraged my freedom, reminded me of my nature....helped me choose my purpose."
His eyes locked in on the burning embers where Amrit's pupils would be.
"You are as vicious as the tides that clash against the ragged shores, you are the gentle ebb of the Moonlight as it dances upon the tree tops. Nature's lulling voice, and its blood-curdling scream. My urge, my pulse given form...now...I need you to become my blade. One capable of toppling the mountains that impede me..."
It began to contort and bulge into a weapon forged from the very essence of his being. He saw a flicker, a shimmer, and then, a weight as mountainous as the spirit before him. It was immense, crushing., nearly as powerful as the Holgurds arbiter, one that bent the very natures of time, space, and light to its call. He stumbled, almost falling under its invisible force. Amrit's cardinal form began to swirl, its nine tails wrapping around it forming a sort of chrysalis of the tremulous mana. Then, with a deafening crack, it split open releasing a torrent of walking chaos. His Animus materialized. It was a colossal axe, its head forged from a dark, obsidian-like material, etched with swirling patterns that seemed to shift with his breath. The trim of its blade radiates the essence of Amrit's first omen, the power of the Primordial Red. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the cold, unyielding steel. It was heavy, impossibly so. He strained, his muscles screaming, but could barely lift it an inch.
"So heavy…" he gasped, sweat beading on his brow.
The axe, unexpectedly, answered. Its voice echoed in his mind, ancient and sorrowful. It mirrored Amrit but was closer to Allen's.
“The weight is your own, Inariel. The burden you carry from a thousand lifetimes of bloodshed. Though the bindings of the curse have been shattered, the events it created, that grief remains, those actions still happened.”
He froze. It was true. He had been a soldier, a mage, a conqueror, a protector. Each role is stained with the blood of countless others. The faces flashed before his eyes, a kaleidoscope of death and destruction. The guilt, the remorse he had suppressed for so long, now manifested as the literal weight of his weapon. He thought after he cleansed his soul of the demon influence that these stains would be washed away. But the stark reality was, that though the demon twisted the desires of his former lives, it was only an instigator of those desires...the root of those events that led to those deaths were the actions of his incarnations. His roots....nothing could absolve him of them.
“This burden can be your undoing or your greatest strength,”
The voice continued.
“It is the source of your power. The anguish you feel can be transmuted into a force of pure destruction. A calamity with every swing.”
"Weild my anguish? Use my grief as a power source?....I..."
He doubted and the animus became even heavier. Doing so felt... appalling. Felt like a disrespect to the fallen.
"Stop trying to erase what has been done, the sins of your past are a part of the planet's history now. There is no such thing as absolution, atonement is a myth..."
The implications were staggering. He could channel his guilt, his sorrow, into raw power. He could unleash devastation unlike anything he had ever witnessed. But at what cost? Could he control it? Could he prevent it from consuming him entirely? The trauma of being the host of that curse for so long lingered within him still. Afraid that he didn't have what it took to resist. But then...within that notion of doubt, Allen's parting words resounded in his heart.
He struggled to lift the axe again, this time focusing not on brute strength, but on acceptance. He acknowledged the guilt, the pain, and the burden he carried. He didn’t try to deny them, to bury them, but to embrace them as part of himself. His actions....the blood on his hands could never be cleansed, this burden eternally his to bear. But whether it be boon or curse, to shape that pain into purpose....was the essence of what it meant to be Vescrutian.to embrace what is, to welcome what is to be, what was must be let go... The Moonscar was created from my emotions, so long as the memory of those aches persisted, the curse could not be broken
"Allen...once again you save me...."
Slowly, painstakingly, the axe began to rise. The weight was still immense, but now, it was manageable. He felt a surge of energy coursing through him, fueled by the very anguish he had carried for so long.
"My back has been been the sheath for many blades...as I have always plunged daggers into the backs of those who once trusted me. A haunting that shall be mine eternal. But these are things that are written into stone, stored within the archives of the timestream. I can only choose to walk forward along my path, and take what I have learned to forge a more solid, intentional path...with the ghost of my dishonor to follow me. There is nothing that can make what I've done right....but at the very least I can grant some form of solace, by letting them witness the end of that Demon's plans. Even if it means becoming a Desire myself..."
In his mind's eye, he looked upon Sophia, Minratha, Allen, and Hyomyn. The villagers of Moonfang. From this to the site of the Moonscar's creation, and then the lifting of its curse as he healed the land, repairing his connection to the planet. What it took, the willpower needed...
"Your name...shall be Moonscar, In honor of those who have walked this path of blood alongside me...with you in toe, I shall reap The Fel Sovereign's very soul!"
The air crackled with energy. The pillars of the Imperium hummed, resonating with the axe's power. He felt the Animus bending to his will, shaping itself to his intent. The first set form was only the beginning. He still had much to learn, much to master. It was a symphony of destruction and creation, a dance of darkness and light. The power of this weapon, however, its weight alone he knew was more than he could bear physically. Even though he knew could manifest it, for it to serve any true use in a battle he would need proper strength to hold it, will aside he could tell he needed more than just a willing heart to make use of it.
He knew his journey had just begun. He had yet to reach the Arch level and unlock Moonscar's unique Omen. He needed to master his core, to truly understand the nature of the Animus, and learn to wield its power without succumbing to the darkness within. But as he stood there, Moonscar held firmly in his grasp, he knew one thing for sure: He would not run from the past. He would face it, embrace it, and forge it into something new. He would become the master of his destiny, a warrior wielding not just a weapon, but the weight of his soul. The Imperium had given him the key, and now, it was up to him to unlock the door.
The team