Since leaving Deadwaste, Omilaena had been a little cavalier about meeting the great powers of the world. She honestly respected the Empress of the Coiled Empire less, after understanding that her power was just brute Physique and a defensive phase, even if she'd be a tough fight. Everyone else that was a major threat to her was too far away to matter.
But as she arrived in the Flaeren Dominion to meet the Windlord, she was on edge. A speed phase could be lethal in a way that others weren't, and the Windlord was rumored to be extremely fast. Almost nothing else was known about them, but their speed was renowned as the core of their power.
She and the elves had arrived at the designated meeting point, a red marble plaza that looked uncomfortably like an arena. There were powerful fighters of the Flaeren Dominion there, wearing huge suits of armor... but they only had around 1000 Power.
Thinking that way made it seem less wild that Omilaena had gotten an audience. She was one of the strongest people on the continent, flanked by two elven elders of considerable strength, and the great powers owed her a favor. If the Windlord made good on their promise, this would be a serious meeting... or so she hoped. So far there were only guards on the other side of the plaza.
"We'll let you handle this and stay back," Ceryyn whispered. "We trust you, but..."
"Yeah, it's a risk." Omilaena gave them both a lazy smile and turned away. "If I die, I won't hold it against you."
She headed out across the plaza, examining it for traps, but there didn't seem to be anything of the sort. The Flaeren Dominion was an empire that dominated the eastern and southeastern parts of the continent, but it wasn't particularly aggressive as far as empires went. Her interest was primarily in warning them, though she would love to get a shot at the Glorious Tree if possible.
A burst of wind swept across the arena, and Omilaena reminded herself to focus on one thing at a time.
The world went still as the Windlord arrived, leaves and dust freezing in midair. Their ambiguous figure moved up to a safe distance from Omilaena, their obscuring robes flapping around them, and then flickered around the plaza to inspect the elves. Maintaining the speed phase to keep up strained Omilaena, but she managed and held still until the Windlord moved around her.
She was sorely tempted to ask the Windlord if they were checking out her ass, but Omilaena restrained herself. Instead she simply turned, maintaining her speed phase, and looked at the Windlord. Those eyes within the robes - very hard to place - widened slightly.
"Why are you here?" the Windlord asked in a strangely reedy voice. They also dropped the speed phase, which was a relief for Omilaena.
"You've heard about the invaders," she said, "and you may not be worried about them because they didn't cause much trouble in the Coiled Empire."
"Don't presume. What about them?"
"Well, they're fully phased. All of them. Now, you're very fast, you could definitely still kill the weaker ones, but Jonijix? He has almost 2500 Power and a disturbingly fast water technique. His allies already dominated Deadwaste and I don't want him to do the same to Rosemount."
"Hmm." The Windlord's head cocked to the side, more like a bird than a person - Omilaena wasn't confident in their species, much less gender. "Even if your motives are sincere, I am not confident in your ability to judge the true heights of speed."
"Try me."
Omilaena almost regretted her words the next second when a sword swept toward her face. The lethal moment was the transition between normality and a full speed phase: for the Windlord it was no transition at all, but Omilaena hadn't completely mastered phases yet, so she lost a critical fraction of a second. She had to throw herself back to escape the blade as it arced toward her.
The Windlord wasn't trying to kill her, not seriously, but they were absolutely using their full speed. Omilaena had to push herself to her limits, both maintaining the phase and pouring enough of herself into speed for her to keep up dodging the following strikes. Just in case, she tried to maintain a defensive phase as well, but she hoped not to have to use it.
Of course, she wasn't fighting seriously: if Omilaena had really wanted to kill the Windlord, she would have begun breathing poison across the plaza, restricting their movement. She could have pretended that she couldn't phase her poison at first, leaving immobile clouds, before breathing out a cloud of poison that was phased. Or she could create weaker clouds that the Windlord could probably force through, but leave offensively phased poison within as a trap.
She didn't do any of those things, but Omilaena smiled as she realized that this wasn't mad. Somehow she had reached the point where she could stand against a great power of Rosemount on her own, and she was aiming even higher.
Perhaps it was that smile, or perhaps she had merely displayed enough speed, but it ended soon after. The Windlord came to a halt opposite her and inclined their head just slightly.
"You are much faster than you were four years ago," the Windlord acknowledged. "Astonishing growth... very well, I accept the value of your warning. But what do you expect to be done about it?"
"Glad you're willing to listen," Omilaena said with a grin. "There's a lot we could talk about, actually..."
After some irritating negotiations, Omilaena got only some of what she wanted. The Flaeren Dominion was taking the invaders seriously now, and tentatively agreed to collaborate with the other great powers if necessary. She was also given permission to move within the Flaeren Dominion, though not to access the Glorious Tree, and the Windlord refused to hand her more resources.
Such a shame: Omilaena already had the Coiled Empire, and she was getting there with the elves.
Just when she was beginning to think that it had been a successful meeting, one of the guards jolted and then moved forward. The absurdly tall armored woman paused, waiting for the Windlord to approve, then stepped closer. She paused again, glancing toward Omilaena nervously, but the Windlord gestured for the guard to speak.
"Windlord, there is news from the Commonwealth of Traebor. The invaders have conquered the city of Traeton and declared a new empire."
So it had begun. The Commonwealth had been taken over so many times, few on Rosemount would blink, but Omilaena knew that this time would be different. She could only hope that she had done enough to convince them of that.
.
..
.
Smoke was still rising from the city of Traeton, but this time it was from the great feast that the invaders had insisted upon. Troulon sat atop the roof of the Great Library and watched as the celebration turned into a sick orgy.
He had seen invaders before, of course - his life had been entirely changed by the arrival of demons, after all, thrown onto an alternate path that led him to become a Gray Demon. Now that he had given up the demonic power, he could think again, but he wondered if he wouldn't be more comfortable if he still had that power within him. With only his Paper Artisan abilities, he felt defenseless.
Then again, perhaps what Omilaena had done to him was a hidden blessing. Troulon had seen some of the initial conflicts, and the invaders had been overwhelming. Each and every one of them was like a great power, and the leader Jonijix had completely unstoppable offensive power. He had gone up against a powerful fighter with Cagnazzo's Tide and a simple water burst technique had left nothing but blood behind.
Some of the others believed that this was just another in a long line of conquerors who became seduced by the Commonwealth's luxuries, just another ruler who would sit on top for a time before violence eventually replaced them with another. Troulon wasn't so confident, not after what he had seen.
Normally conquerors required a certain minimum level of intelligence, because it wasn't possible to gain great power without a degree of wisdom for training and decision-making regarding abilities. But this Jonijix really seemed like a brute that had been granted the powers of a god without warning, without any of the usual experiences of struggle or fighting equal opponents that would moderate the behaviors of such conquerors.
Instead, he seemed to think of nothing but his base desires, demanding the best food and courtesans in the city. Some of Troulon's peers said that was normal for new conquerors and that he would calm over time... but Troulon wasn't sure. There was a disgust in the man's eyes, no matter what he was given, that seemed a grim portent of things to come.
For years, Troulon had stood aside from such events, finishing his history of the demon occupation and taking care of the Great Library. Now he had a feeling that an era of history was coming to a close and he wasn't sure what would follow, or if he would take any role in it.
But for some reason, he found himself getting to his feet.