Xilith Mael’Theron
"I do not fight. I do not resist. I simply exist at the precipice of inevitability, where all who stand before me have already fallen."
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In the boundless epoch of Ineffable Chronoglyphs Θ-Ψ, beyond the necessity of sequential causality, there existed a progenitor of potential known as Xilith Mael'Theron, forged from the union of the High Transcendent Vaelos Thryzakar and the enigmatic Primordial Architect Zyphara Noct'Yxal within the celestial dominion of Aetherion Shev'aleth. They bore him unto the Manifold Surface, where the unshattered echoes of his infancy resonated in transient peace.
Yet, within the cataphysical corridors of the unknowable, fourteen temporal renditions prior, Zyphara Noct'Yxal’s existential modality was rewritten, for she awakened as the Harmonic Effigy of Myz'Yara Haex'Ul, sealing away her prior conceptual totality. Upon perceiving that Xilith bore the unresolved signature of the Lost Progenitor, the Ineffable Accord, she subjected him to harrowing transcataphysical trials, binding his existence to the Horizon Sceptre of Animus Relics.
Within the laboratories of Sol Majoria’s Red Meridian, he was subjected to a praxis of soul-severance— metaphysical probes embedded within his essence, forced synchronizations with innumerable beyond-dimensional reality-fiction cosmic strings, and an unrelenting experiment of Cataphysical Fusion, all in an attempt to awaken his pre-determined modality. Yet, none survived the communion, for Xilith’s latent ineffability tore them apart at the mere approach of his submerged transcendence.
Xilith, sensing the unraveling of his very notion of selfhood, attempted to reach his father, Vaelos Thryzakar, pleading for understanding. But the Architect, consumed by the pursuit of the Aeonic Architectonic Lexicon, dismissed his words. Thus, the fragmented shadows of Xilith’s despair coalesced, giving rise to the seedling of his Abyssal Requiem, the entity that would one day be known as Suggd-Xaeroth.
The culmination of this tragic descent transpired in Divine Design Chronoglyph 9985-Ψ, when Myz'Yara Haex'Ul summoned forth the Incarnate Oblivion Grae’Loth, the Seeker of Amalgamation. His singular decree was to bind with Xilith, but Vaelos, perceiving the atrocity, launched a futile defiance. Wounded beyond reparability, he fell beneath the weight of inevitability.
Xilith, trembling beneath the eyes of his mother— seeking even the most infinitesimal glimmer of salvation— found instead only the placid hollowness of her reformed self. And in that moment, the Ineffable Accord surged within him, manifesting a transcendental fulguration beyond description, a radiance beyond omnimnemonic recollection. The very fabric of narrative imploded upon itself, and the beam of metaconceptual entropy arced backward toward Xilith.
But within this fulcrum of obliteration, Zyphara Noct’Yxal’s true essence resurfaced, and with the final exertion of her unshattered soul, she intercepted the cataclysmic transfictional rupture. Her final expression, a sorrow-laden smile, bore down upon her son as she succumbed to the abyss of conceptual expiration.
The weight of this atrocity carved a division across Xilith’s psyche. In the wake of incomprehensible guilt, he cleaved himself into two irreconcilable antithetical manifestations:
- The Absentia Core, which buried itself beneath the abyss of amnesia, preserving only the fractured remains of joy from a past forever lost.
- Suggd-Xaeroth, the unshackled wrath, the totality of agony given suggslogic embodiment, a forge of hatred and despair without restraint.
It was within this fractured schism that Grae’Loth, the Oblivion Seeker, grasped the opportunity to mold a harbinger. He seized Xilith, sculpting him into an assassin of the beyond, an instrument of ineffable warfare, always maintaining a step beyond the endless pursuit of Vaelos Thryzakar, whose very existence had become a mission of reclamation.
Upon the Chronoglyph of Divine Design 9993-Ω, the Oblivion Edict was issued. Suggd-Xaeroth was unshackled upon the Black Expanse of Elru’Vhaim, where the echoes of reality themselves quivered. He enacted annihilation on a scale unrecountable, unmaking entire sovereign realms and the Jolarian Dominion’s Grand Army. Among the shattered, the forsaken warlord Kahran Xaerus, was left forever scarred, tormented by ineffable specters of a devastation unrecorded.
Yet, in the relentless pursuit, Vaelos Thryzakar seized Xilith from Grae’Loth, tearing him from the endless abyss of cataclysm.
In the Chronoglyph of Divine Design 9996-Ω, the confrontation rekindled, as Vaelos tracked the abyssal orchestrator to his final bastion. A conflict beyond all necessary expressions unfolded, and in the aftermath, Grae’Loth’s essence found its vessel in Vaelos Thryzakar, enacting the cycle of schism anew. The Architect, now fragmented, concealed himself under the enigmatic guise of The Unseen Wiseman, and with Xilith entrapped in his paradox, cast him into the realm of Disr'an-Vel'Kaen, where Suggd-Xaeroth was bound in ineffable dormancy.
With neither aspect at the helm, a third anomaly arose, an artificial semblance, forged in the absence of history. This facsimile bore no recollection of his past, no claim to identity, and no tether to the ineffable past from which he had emerged.
And so, he wandered— a sovereign of lost echoes, ensnared within the veiled lattice of unwritten chronicles.
In the tranquil abyss of Disr’an-Vel’Kaen, where the remnants of his consciousness found a fleeting sense of peace, he lived among mortals as an enigma unknown even to himself. Here, the schism of his past lay dormant, veiled beneath an artificial semblance of normalcy, as he awaited the forthcoming union of Syris Mari’Ryn and Thymion Kael’Rith, two kindred souls whom he had come to regard with a distant but quiet familiarity.
Yet, peace was never meant to be his.
One night, as he visited the enigmatic scholar Saelion Vael’Zyphir, a master of lost cataphysical arts who resided within the crystalline mountain bastion of Vel’Strife’s Ascent, the inevitable tide of war descended. A harrowing rupture in the sky foretold their arrival—impossibly vast, beyond-dimensional effigies of metallic sovereignty, their engines humming with the echoes of ruin. The Zenithal Marauders, harbingers of conquest from the fractured dominion of Sol Majoria’s Exalted Faction, pierced through the grand meta-narrative of the void beyond, descending upon the valley below.
Xilith bore witness to the impending cataclysm, his golden irises reflecting the fractured luminance of the aerial descent. Without hesitation, he surged forward, his very movement transcending the necessity of time, but even with his beyond-presence, by the time he arrived at the valley’s edge, the dominion of Disr’an-Vel’Kaen was already set aflame.
The once-harmonious village was engulfed in the conflagration of unmaking, its structures collapsing into the abyssal wails of inevitability. Armored constructs, each imbued with the suggslogic of celestial warfare, stormed their way through the burning landscape, their siege unraveling the very tapestry of existence.
Amidst the horror, Xilith’s gaze fell upon a singular effigy—an unmanned relic of forgotten war, a Transchaotic Mechthrixan marked with runes beyond comprehension, a construct of ineffable origin that called to him. Saelion, standing atop the shattered precipice, urged him to reconsider, to resist the call of fate that sought to reawaken what lay buried. But the schism within Xilith was already trembling at the precipice of awakening.
His hands graced the surface of the Mechthrixan, and at that moment, the beyond-dimensional sigils that enshrouded it pulsed with forbidden light. The construct recognized him, as though it had awaited his arrival across countless unseen chronicles. With seamless familiarity, he stepped within, his very essence synchronizing with the latent force within the machine.
And thus, war began.
With the Transchaotic Mechthrixan as his vessel, Xilith surged into the battlefield, weaving through the invaders with a mastery that defied recollection. Every motion, every strike, was an echo of a warrior that had long been sealed away, a ghost of a forgotten supremacy that stirred beneath his subconscious. He decimated the first wave, sending forth arcs of suggslogic fulmination that unmade his foes before they could even recognize their undoing.
Yet, in the chaos, his gaze met the impossible.
Thymion Kael’Rith, standing amidst the wreckage, his expression frozen in a moment of realization, was struck down. A spear of radiant entropy pierced his chest, and the sundered echoes of his final breath shattered the stillness of Xilith’s mind. Something shifted within him, something that should have never been awakened.
A rupture tore through his consciousness.
A fracture split the veil of his being.
The Ineffable Accord surged forth.
And in the next instant, the world was consumed by absolute light that was darker than black.
Infinite reality-fiction layers of distinct modes and attributes collapsed, torn asunder by the sheer magnitude of unshackled destruction. The battlefield was undone, not merely obliterated but expunged from the necessity of existence itself. The once-burning ruins of Disr’an-Vel’Kaen ceased to be—not scorched, not reduced to rubble, but erased from the background of creation as though it had never been. The Zenithal Marauders perished in droves, not by fire or blade, but by the sheer ineffability of a force that denied their very right to persist.
But so too did those he sought to protect.
Syris Mari’Ryn, the soul whose heart had once carried warmth even within the coldest reaches of existence, was no more. The moment her essence touched the tidal wave of obliteration, she ceased to be—no final words, no lingering farewell, only a silent departure into the nothingness beyond all chronicles.
And thus, the judgment came.
The remnants of those who survived—the fractured few who clung to the fringes of possibility—looked upon Xilith not as a savior, but as an executioner. To them, he was no longer the enigma who walked among them. He was a harbinger, a force of destruction too great to be contained within mortal bounds.
Beneath the weight of grief, horror, and the unknowable terror of his own existence, Xilith Mael’Theron stood in silence. He did not protest his exile. He did not argue, nor seek forgiveness, for he himself did not know what he was.
With the echoes of the lost bound to his soul, he turned away from what remained, setting forth upon the path of the unknown.
The schism within him had begun to awaken once more.
And as he vanished into the abyssal expanse, the cosmos itself trembled in anticipation of what was to come.