"That..." Vargaraad lifted the rim of his hat and stared deeply at Garmr. "... That is a rather large wolf..." As someone who knew what a revenant should look like, there was only one question circulating in his mind. What the hell were they feeding that thing? Even in his wildest dreams he wouldn't be able to concoct a draconic revenant chimera half as dreadfully striking as this. Apparently nature was just ok with this revenant abomination running around and nothing was going to be done about it. On the bright side, however, this was positively positive news for Vargaraad as the existence of such a freak worked in his favour. His end goal was the destruction of Coffin, Major's revenant iron maiden, to free the trapped souls within and get his wife and child back. How he did it was irrelevant. Treachery, war crimes, immorality, none of it was off the table and he was even willing to come back into the spotlight and show off his 'alive and well' status to make this happen. His intention was to retrieve the Lunarflare Lantern and go on a rampage across Vraizon, drawing attention to himself and ultimately bringing the Coffin to him as it was pretty impossible to hunt it down. Well, he was in the know about a rare treasure that might aid him in becoming stronger than he was, he couldn't take on Coffin in his current state as much as he wanted to, so that would come first... But after that? He was prepared to risk it all and go ballistic against the Legion.
Now, however, there was a different path available to Vargaraad in the form of Garmr. It's not like the revenants would sit around and watch their own be shoved into some grotesque flesh and metal, soul snatching hideousness that tortured them all eternally. They would leap into action as soon as they had a workable plan and do their own thing to try and rectify the situation. Ares would too, he was a revenant and such loyalty to his kind was pretty much preprogramed into his bloodline. It was genuinely rather rare to come across a revenant traitor who backstabbed their own. If two revenants found themselves on opposing sides of an issue out in the wild they would at least try to make sure they each walked away with as few scratches as possible, potentially even double crossing whoever they were working for if there was enough validation just to support their brethren. By that logic, Ares wouldn't tolerate the Legion's inexcusable experimentation on his racial compadres and that meant this... Wolf... If it could even still be called such a thing, was on Vargaraad's side. This was fantastic news. It didn't take a genius to understand that this revenant before him was the most powerful one in all of history, that was just a given. All Vargaraad needed to do was let fate play out on its own and, eventually, provided nothing got in Ares' way prematurely, he would cultivate up and then bring the Coffin down of his own accord. Pretty simple in a way but also regrettably problematic for reasons that weren't obvious at a glance. Put simply, someone had to do the dirty work and stop people from interfering with Ares. Legion people, specifically. If someone at Vargaraad's level, from the Legion clan, came down here to hunt Ares, knowing that his revenant form was a bad omen of what was to come in the Legion's immediate future if left unchecked, what was he supposed to do about it other than die? Worse still, if Coffin got its hands on Ares and trapped him then the chances of ever beating it would drop drastically as one viable method would disappear entirely. Coffin was strong so there weren't many methods available to begin with and every single one needed to be cherished!
As for what Ares was trying to accomplish with this revenant form, by bringing it out now at this exact juncture, his upward gaze and knuckle crack as he stared down the incoming mountain spoke volumes. Vargaraad was very curious to see if he could actually do it, whether 'it' in this case was either catching or destroying the mountain didn't matter, he just really wanted to know what he was dealing with here. He watched as Ares slightly bent his knees, stretched and clicked all the fingers on both hands, and straightened his back. His posture gave to understand he was catching it and so Vargaraad, not completely oblivious, came up with a few escape routes from his current position. Ares' plan was thwarted early because, for the first time pretty much ever, the person he was dealing with was decently intelligent and strong; a rare combination to be sure if his past interactions with various individuals was to be any indication. Fortunately for Ares, Vargaraad wasn't actually an enemy or he would have had the fight of his life in store for him. Right now he was still in the process of catching the mountain, however, and the show was about to start as it was dangerously close to smushing everyone still underneath it.
The mountain descended right into Garmr's fully prepped open palms and there was a brief moment in which even the mountain looked unsure about what was happening. Vargaraad could imagine the mountain tilting slightly in confusion as it was slowed to a crawl and eventually stopped before hitting the floor. Ares' knees bent even further but he wasn't quite at the point where they bent fully and forced him to kneel, he managed to remain standing while shouldering the mountain above him like Atlas lifting the globe. He even grew more and more comfortable with the pressure as he readjusted his grip by lightly lifting, gently tossing, the mountain and darting his hand around to find a better distribution of weight. As time went on, Garmr's back grew straighter and prouder until eventually he was lifting the mountain up high like a trophy while stood tall and unflinching. This had left the Throne stunned in place with jaws dropped and pants wet, the latter because they were half expecting Garmr to now chuck the mountain at them. That wasn't going to be how they died but, debatably, it would have been a better fate than having to stare down Garmr and die by his hand rather than some miscellaneous projectile.
There was one person, or thing, not impressed by this display at all though and not fussed about having to stand up to this symbol of might... Though really that was at least partially because the venator didn't understand conceptually what it was looking at. Mountains didn't exist in the void, the concept of weight was pretty new to it and so this astounding feat was just so-so, and so it was more concerned with getting up off the floor and fighting. Ares hadn't expected the venator to be this self destructively stupid and suicidal so his pressure control had slipped while he wasn't paying attention. All this to say, the venator was back to whispering its favourite word into the wind and ambling up to Garmr with the persistence of a fearless psychopath. it definitely took a degree of insanity to have the courage to not only disregard everything it had seen but to then still walk up to Garmr anyway looking for a brawl. If it wasn't because the venator was more ignorant than a whore in a nunnery, or a nun in a whorehouse, whichever imagery floated your boat, there would be a profound level of respect owed to someone as ballsy as it. The number of people who could willingly charge headfirst into Garmr's bulky arms were pretty slim and that number would drop drastically too if any sort of cultivation advantage was taken out of the equation. Still, it did pose somewhat of a dilemma to Ares whose hands and feet were busy. He couldn't kick out because his legs were like pillars supporting the rest of his body and his hands were both needed to retain a good hold of the mountain. If there was ever a time to try and attack Garmr then, actually, this was indeed it. What the venator would come to learn, though, was that Garmr was limbless, perhaps, but not defenceless.
Ares stared down the venator as it approached, subtly daring it to attempt literally anything at the risk of losing its life. He was going to deal with it anyway but if its self-preservation was this pathetic, worse than a baby seal willingly waddling up to a killer whale, then evolution had clearly not done its job properly and Ares was more than happy to send the venator back into the cycle. The venator's instincts were raw, not fully baked, and so the complete lack of awareness about Garmr's encouraging grin was almost painful to watch. If the Thrones had any interest in keeping the venator alive they would be yelling loudly like in a pantomime but, instead of shouting 'he's behind you', they'd be slapping their face and screaming 'he's in front of you, idiot!' This went beyond the pale. It was basically the equivalent of a limb getting a running start, cartwheeling, and triple backflipping headfirst into a lion's mouth! You know what they say about train wrecks, though, people can't help but watch. There was a curiosity about how gruesome a fate the venator had in store so everybody waited patiently to see what method Garmr would pull out from his sleeve. It didn't take long to figure out, though, because as the venator stumbled up to Garmr it was met by the backwards lean of his head and a sharp glint in his eyes. Neither Vargaraad nor the remaining Throne members had seen Garmr breathe fire before but it wasn't hard to make an educated guess that was what came next. He wasn't aiming for a headbutt so this sort of movement of his neck and head, plus his slightly puffed up cheeks, could only realistically mean one thing; those dragon horns weren't for show and they symbolised a bloodline that was mythological to the people of Sheryashka, yes, but also very real. In fact, the Throne members all made the wise decision to scramble away from Garmr on the off chance any stray incoming flames caught them up in the venator obliteration show. They didn't want to be in the splash zone so their front row tickets were in need of a refund.
Garmr's head shot forward and his mouth widened as black flames raced out of his throat and blasted across the snowy landscape with disregard for the safety of any living being or the environment whatsoever. Dark flames rolled down his fur and spread over the floor like a rapid creeping ivy, adding a layer of pitch black disintegration that gnawed away the feet of those standing on it and threatening to slowly consume their whole body starting from their soles. The Throne members finished evacuating in the nick of time but the venator braved onwards toward the source of danger as Garmr ramped up his fiery ferocity, constantly redoubling the size of his ever growing flame until it became a nightmarish jet of black death that swamped the world. Undulating smoky black clouds, harrowing like an ethereal mist of necromantic magic but also thick and daunting like a wave of abyssal ocean, ran wild. They wrapped around trees, sunk under the floor, and flew high into the sky all except for the constant jet stream that Garmr directed right at the venator. It was safe to say the venator was dead at this point as it had been visually, and probably existentially, drowned in oblivion incarnate. Hidden behind the veil of disintegration it was likely melted away, soul and all, until no traces remained. Complete evaporation after a mere few seconds of disintegration focus fire, it simply couldn't contend with the lethality of the deadliest magic known to man and nobody could blame it. The disintegration breath was unstoppable and those nearby had to pray the mind of its own it had didn't direct the flames towards them or they would be scorched into ashes and then their ashes would be further scorched into fading particles. It was all brutally fast and efficient, the venator had been the direct target of Garmr for little less than a whole second before its form was destroyed in its entirety and the sheer scale of the difference between the two combatants was made abundantly clear to anyone with a functioning pair of eyes.
Though Garmr stopped breathing fire now that his target was dead, the disintegration ocean still rolled around over the nearby hills and took about a minute or so to fade. Not that anyone was invested in watching that as they were more concerned with Garmr lifting up the mountain even higher and aiming it. Once more the Throne ran about like headless chickens to get out of the way. Fortunately Ares was aiming at Vargaraad so it wasn't hard for them to scramble successfully. It was rather embarrassing that the two attacks Garmr had launched thus far required them to flee even though they weren't even the ones being aimed at but, then again, they really had no business being in this standoff to begin with. They were the weakest group present by far and had been effectively ignored the entire time too. They should have read the room. Even now Ares still didn't care about them, they were little more than scurrying ants making lots of noise as they retreated to safety. Ares' main goal was Vargaraad but he wasn't expectant about the result of this assault as the mystery man had chanted the name of an art under his breath that was neither Departure nor Lovely Weather Tonight. Ares had no clue what came next but he didn't hold out much hope that the mountain would hit this umbrella wielding sir. Nonetheless, his bones clicked as he leant backwards ever so slightly and then immediately back forwards. His hands applied the full force of Garmr's strength and shoved the entire mountain in his grasp diagonally forward and up so as to launch it off him. It flew through the air, slowly but with an imposing heftiness that was rather daunting, and sunk towards the hill Vargaraad was resting on. From there, chaos. The mountain crashed and the earth roared, eardrums were pierced as the mountain and ground shattered upon collision. Snow was blasted away from the centre, ice fractured and cracked, and the world rumbled as though two titans were doing gladiatorial combat in the area and treating the world like a playground. Garmr maintained his dignity but the Thrones all, without exception, fell over and were pushed around by the rampant shaking. They were made to hit the deck and kiss the floor, unable to stand up lest they be subjected to it again and again. Their ears were bloody and their hands shook as they stumbled up to their knees only to be unceremoniously bullied and knocked down again.
Though the carnage did settle down eventually, the catastrophe had already long since left its indelible mark on the scenery as the mountain was now halfway buried into the ground like a hatchet. Icy mists surrounded the impact zone and, though new snow was falling in the area, all the snow in this location previously was absent. Small craters, filled with the puddles of said snow after having melted, dotted the crash site and various animals that had burrowed and lived underground nearby where left dead on the surface after being dredged up by the great unearthing that had just occurred. This was merely a result of Garmr throwing the mountain; had it fallen from its initial height without any interference the damage would have been even more devastating. If the Torchbearer's initial plan had been successful, and the entire mutated mountain blew up, it was safe to say the region would be reduced to a hazardous wasteland in a matter of hours. Not that any of this was relevant to Vargaraad who'd escaped handily and was acting rather dainty and unbothered but this whole mess. Up in the sky above the crash zone there were about thirty umbrellas dotting the sky, each of them hovering way above the danger below. Clinging firmly to one, Vargaraad too was floating unharmed with not even his dignity or posture receiving so much as a dent. The hand resting comfortably in his pocket lifted, rising up this chin to scratch it as he analysed the mess beneath him as though it had nothing to do with him. Whatever art he'd used allowed him to jump between floating umbrellas freely and avoid attacks while putting him in a position to rain down his own. Floating in the air with an umbrella was a rather common trope so Ares was hardly surprised to see it but what really mattered with this art was the trickery it came attached with as those other umbrellas were likely more than just mere distractions. Facing an unknown art was always tough but, thankfully, it seemed like Vargaraad wasn't interested in pursuing this matter as he made the other umbrellas disappear as he descended onto the wreckage of the mountain and took a seat once more.
Ares didn't need to be told twice that Vargaraad wasn't a threat so, instead, he took a moment, and barely even that, to wipe out the Throne for good. They were riff raff rabble at best and there was nothing interesting about their last few moments on this earth. The patriarch did try to use both the hidden talisman to blast Garmr, as well as the secret treasure to teleport away, but both were utterly useless in the face of Ares' many talents. The talisman summoned a headless skeleton knight atop a demonic horse but it was crushed the second it appeared by Garmr's overhead pummel. It was supposed to launch a devastating attack but it was beaten to a pulp before it could even attempt to cast the art in the first place. Usually it would be able to defend itself until the art was chanted at least but, well, Garmr was Garmr and so that was never going to happen. After that Garmr ripped and tore his way through the clan, leaving nothing but the dying, legless, one eye-missing patriarch crawling away like an injured worm. He noticed a spatial fluctuation around the patriarch, which would be the spatial escape treasure he was attempting to use, and countered it by returning to his human form and instantly blocking it with nothingness. The space was fractured, rupturing the patriarch's last remaining bits of life force along with the treasure. The patriarch's internal organs popped and the life in his eyes and energy in his limbs was nowhere to be found, thus ending the confrontation in a rather predictable manner. Ares turned to face the mystery man whose name he still didn't yet know, he wasn't a psychic after all. Before he could start asking questions, though, Vargaraad raised his palm to halt Arse in his tracks before speaking with finality.
"I was simply here for my lantern. Perhaps you can give it back to me later on but I won't ask you for it now. I have a feeling we'll meet again, multiple times too, so let's just treat today as an introduction to one another that got slightly out of hand and leave it at that. Before I leave, however, I have some friendly advice for you. Do not travel openly through the deeper parts of the Vraizon domain, make sure to disguise yourself well and not pick fights you aren't yet ready for. The Legion are making moves and you are well within their scopes so do be mindful. Also I wouldn't be reckless and charge right over to Neo Gear to set the Torchbearer straight, he's resourceful, manipulative, and surprisingly powerful. I've not met him myself but I have it on good authority he's far stronger than any normal peak transition realm cultivator. What I'm trying to say is don't overestimate yourself just because you're strong, there are plenty of unknown variables out there that will give even you a run for your money. Oh and one last thing, the Frozen Thunder League in Akarala would be quite interested in your venator slaying talents, if you ever find yourself in the region do stop by and pay them a visit. That's all the advice you'll get from me for now. Toodaloo, Ares." Much like how Kaleido Lingo managed to give Ares the slip back during the international, Vargaraad placed his umbrella directly in front of him, opened it, and gave it a twirl. The umbrella slowly shrank into a tinier and tinier rotating circle but Vargaraad was nowhere to be seen behind it any longer. If nothing else, Ares learnt today that the umbrella really did posses a wide range of unusual but very generalist arts that covered a wide range of needs and were very applicable in multiple situations. Perhaps he could dabble in the aspect himself one day but, for now, it was time to take into consideration what Vargaraad told him, finish up various odd jobs he had yet to go over, and then finally return home!
Isaz was explored and Ares' work here was done!