Masks 2

"Um... hello."

Theraea squinted, staring into the Deep and trying to tune the song out. Keep your thoughts ordered. Focus. Breathe.

"I'm Theraea. Ibuarska clan. Seventeenth spire. I-I don't know what that means to you, but you know what I am."

Go time. Theraea began to call on the Abyss, channeling wisps of Unreality through herself. Around each of her four hands, the air grew wavy, as though by intense heat - an effect that seemed to spread as she focused.

"What you're doing here is- I can't even describe how horrible this is. I didn't become a Mender just to stop people like you from- from bringing your selfish horrors upon entire worlds, but that's what I'm going to do! It doesn't matter what it takes, I'm going to fix the reality that you broke, the lives that you ruined! You act like you're some inevitable force of change, but you know what? You're just a cosmic bully, and- and I'm stopping you here!"

Inky-black, ephemeral wisps of Abyssal magic began to dance in the air as Theraea focused herself, using her own speech to take her attention off the Song. This was among one of the most difficult and strenuous things she'd ever had to do, but damned if she was going to give up. The featureless black pits of her eyes opened wide, staring into the whirlpool with absolute conviction.

"You- you call yourself the Voice of the Deep, but you know what? I'm from the Abyss. And it's a lot deeper than you."

And with that, what could be the last one-liner of her life, Theraea channeled everything she had outward, reaching out toward the rift and trying to force it shut. Because she was a professional, and this was what she did.