-some number of years ago-
"Once the whitelist goes through and you log, you'll be powerlocked."
"I'm being serious, Skizriel."
"So am I. Lay it on me, boss. What are we talking?"
"You'll be reduced to your most base form. You might be able to access Wrath Warlord, but Ascendant Envoy and Spear of Wrath won't be accessible at all."
"...you're not the only one."
"I just- I want you to know that we are ALL powerlocked, myself included excluding necessary admin permissions. Even Keralis and Joe, to what extent they can be sealed. You aren't being singled out."
"Never thought I was, X. But- thanks. Let's get this show on the road, yeah?"
No one understands the cruelty of the Celestial Ascendancy like Skizz.
Sure he's not an engineer or a philosopher. Before coming home with Impulse he'd have called himself what he was: a war dog. A weapon. A soldier who obeyed.
Who understands the war better than the bloody spear at its tip?
All of that was centuries ago, though. The demonic revolution of the joined hell servers had been enough to push the Ascendancy out to the edges of the multiverse where they could keep trying and failing to birth an elder god that would bring them to the Heart.
Skizz mostly forgets, in his day to day. Tripping over his own two feet helping Tango, shamelessly encouraging Scar, meekly being scolded by Gem and Cleo. It's easy to forget. To feel old and safe and settled.
He hadn't meant to lie, per say. It had just been easier.
No other hermit gave up information about their pasts, it wasn't a requirement to join the server. All he'd said was he was 'war buddies' with Impulse and that did it. The others all knew Impulse had fought in the revolution.
Hell he still technically ruled a portion of his home server, though they'd moved to a more democratic elective system millennia ago and his role was ceremonial at best.
Skizz knew Grian thought he was a demon of one of the rarer Houses or Empires and honestly, in a fucked up way, he's honored the little Watcher might believe him worthy. To be a Prince, even a minor one, of Rust or Storms or Blood! Man the House of Blood was so cool, even now.
Skizriel, Ascendant Envoy of the Celestial Choir and Spear of Wrath, touches down on the grass with Gem at his side. Impulse beside him is still holding Joe, and when the powerlocking clicks back into place Skizz feels like he weighs as much as an entire mountain of netherite blocks. Like he's been cut from a safety cord and left to drift.
Good, he thinks ruthlessly to himself. Good.
Keralis is waiting, face dark. Xisuma and Hypno too are waiting and they all come forward. Joe hasn't woken.
Skizz wordlessly hands Xisuma a datastick. He'd taken it from the room they'd found Gem and Joe in. Xisuma takes it with a nod and with a glance back at Impulse, who is seeing to Joe and Gem, Skizz equips an elytra and takes off.
He'd been able to hide from pretty much everyone.
Keralis knew, and Joe, and that was fine. Hell he'd sought them out that first day, had asked Impulse and Xisuma to let them know beforehand in case it was a dealbreaker. It's one thing to be two members of an endangered species on a refuge server.
It's another to welcome a refugee from the hunters who made you endangered in the first place.
Everyone else hadn't much cared. Grian was a problem, but a powerlocked Watcher can only Watch so much, and he's still such a little guy, in Watcher years. It'll be another century before he can hope to peer past Skizz.
Skizz touches down gently on the far side of a white wall surrounding a beautful pagoda styled castle and he's waiting there.
"How did it go?" Welsknight asks.
"We got them both." Skizz says. "It's okay. We're okay."
Then Welsknight puts a hand on his shoulder, and says kindly, "Skizz? you're not okay."
"No." Skizz whispers. "I'm not."
He'd wanted so badly to leave it all behind.
He'd been near mortally wounded in the final battle, badly enough that the Ascendancy thought he was dead and most of the Demonic Houses did, too. Even his most base form still has scars from where he'd held up the world, because if he could buy the revolutionaries another hour, another minute, another second-
He'd done it. He'd held back the sky, and they'd won the day, and the sad tale of Skizriel the Spear of Wrath who turned upon his own was just one more part of a war that would become ruins that would become stories.
Impulse had settled well into a life of peace, had wanted to share that with his companion. He'd assured Skizz that there were other old soldiers and there were, yes- BDubs who still rides military-straight, Scar whose luck whispers of old bargains that won't ever come due. Doc, missing arm and eye, never quite relaxing.
Ancient, terrible Welsknight.
Not a god, not a demon, not an angel. Nothing more than a man.
A man who fights and fights and does not die. A man who knows what it is to want peace and yearn for war because at least in war things make sense.
A man who had taken one look at Skizz and said to him, simply and directly, "I see you."
Not in a threatening way. Not in a 'gotcha!' way either. It had been an invitation, one bloodied sword to another. I see you.
How good it had felt to be seen.
Skizz sits beside the beautiful, tranquil pond of the castle's courtyard and tells Wels everything.
About Xisuma cutting their powerlocks the moment it became clear that what happened to Joe and Gem wasn't a respawn error.
About the teleport Skizz had rigged to get them to the junk server the Ascendancy had built out amongst the survival worlds, made and abandoned in hours or days.
About Impulse following the scent of Gem's blood, growling in the back of his throat.
About how easy it had been to tear Raziel into pieces, how satisfying, even if the two headed little prick is just going to respawn back at the prison server which is apparently not a prison anymore.
Wels, bless him, looks at Skizz when he's finished and says, with old blood in his gaze, "Sounds like fun."
Then they laugh together, ugly laughter they wouldn't let the others hear.
"So." Wels says when they've finished laughing. "What do we do now?"
Skizz is quiet for a long moment. The sun has fallen, and no one appears to be sleeping; the fireflies buzz through the cattails.
"They're going to come back. For Keralis or Joe. Maybe both. We're a designated non-combat server. They won't take their chances anywhere else until they're sure this nut can't be cracked."
"Mm." Wels looks out over his courtyard. "Okay. Well. We'll be ready."
"Yeah." Skizz agrees, and he can almost see through all three pairs of eyes, almost feel the flexing of all nine wings. "We will be."
(AWS means Angelic Weapon Skizz. So we're all on the same page.)
