As the two figures argue in the blistering sun, an arbitrary quota of storytelling is reached. The metaphysical cogs of the NeS Universe whir and spark of their own accord, ticking and turning the page count over to 25.
In the scholar's tower of Deitopos, hidden well within the realm of dreams, a miniature reproduction of those exact cogs whir and spark at the exact same moment, turning an ornate watch hand over to a beautifully embossed gold number: "25". The watch is examined by its owner, the NeScholar Arkng Thand, puffing blue smoke over its facade.
Thand: So soon?
He snaps shut the book he was reading - An Experiment with Time, by J.W. Dunn - and replaces it on his endless bookcase.
Thand: Remarkable.
As a younger man, Thand had taken part in some of the most important events of NeS history, although none had been chronicled during the focal reign of the NeSHeroes. He had shaped the very course of human endeavour under a variety of glib aliases, never once feeling a pang of regret that no one would understand the magnitude of his contributions. To him, notoriety was as cheap and unnecessary as morality - concepts that could only hinder progress if adhered to.
When he had first been abandoned, Thand had railed against his immortal lifespan, devoting himself to conflict and destruction. He raged as the world trembled, turning his limitless energies to chaos. Adai Theos, he had been then, world-breaker, bone-crusher. He fought with his fists alone, and for a time, it was enough to shape the world.
Thand: I believe it is time. If only someone had the werewithal to become my assistant...ah, but a man can dream.
As he had grown older, his body refusing to bend and break with time's rigours, his mind remaining alive and aware as his companions' own were dulling and cooling like clay, Thand had come to an epiphany. He cast aside arms and mortal possessions, and devoted his endless life to knowledge. In this simple, pious act, Thand destined himself to become the most powerful being that ever walked the earth.
Thand: Let it begin, then.
After all, a man can, in a single lifetime, learn just enough of the nature of reality to turn his hair white and cause him to lose his mind. But if a man could not lose his mind...if he had not one lifetime to give, but as many as were necessary...what dark secrets of time and space would be his to command?
Thand dusts lint off his green suit, takes one more puff of his pipe, and disappears. The disappearance is not garnished by a wizard-like puff of smoke or crackle of electricity - Thand is simply gone.
IN THE HOLLOWED-OUT SHELL OF BIG BEN...
Fifty men stand arguing in the shell of a building, a building that was once a headquarters for heroes. The men are variously old, young, rich and poor - distinguished only by a quiet, almost ferocious mental intensity. They are the NeScholars.
NeScholar 1: I'm sick of waiting around, Walter! We have assembled a team, we should go now!
The current leader of the NeScholars, a massive wad of bulk in a tweed suit, bristles noticeably.
Walter: We have not been 'waiting around', my good man. We have been observing the right time to strike.
A young, thin man in a lavender suit and small-framed glasses steps forward.
Matthias: I have to agree. I mean, as part of this so-called 'strike team', we're not ready to take on a military target! We're academics, scholars of the Never-ending Story! I mean, look at this man -
He holds up a 6 x 8 glossy of a fearsome, grizzled Soviet relic in a trenchcoat.
Matthias: - how are a bunch of pencil-pushers and dissertation publishers meant to assassinate The Last True Evil?
As these words are being spoken, a figure materialises above them, coming to rest neatly on one of the blasted platforms. The shadows of destroyed gears and pulleys cast a darkness on his face.
Arkng Thand: Good evening, my former peers.
Such is the galvanic force of Arkng Thand's presence that some of the NeScholars are pathetically grateful to see him, hoping against hope that he will shoulder some of their scholarly burden. Walter, one of the few NeScholars who was present at the day Thand abandoned them all, merely scowls.
Walter: Arkng Thand. Why have you returned?! Here to lump misery on us, no doubt.
Thand: Your lack of foresight has doomed you, Walter. As monumentally dim as you are, I was prepared to let you live out your autumn years in peace. That was, however, before you set this whole society against the NeSHeroes.
Walter stabs an accusing finger at the shadow in the alcove, who merely smiles beningly.
Walter: Not all the NeSHeroes, you old fool! HIM! THE TRUE ENEMY OF US ALL! THE TRUE EVIL AMONG US!
Thand raps his cane on the ground. It carries the sound effect of a cannon blast, and immediately silences Walter.
Thand: You have perverted this society, Walter. Our founding credo was never to intervene. NEVER.
Walter: "Fiat justitia, ruat coelum."
Thand: "Let justice be done, though the heavens may fall?" Empty words, oldfriend. And they have cost you all your lives.
Thand casts his cane aside and throws his arms into the air.
Walter: KILL HIM!
The NeScholars are, for a body of academics, armed to the teeth. Some carry conventional weapons - one noted Cambridge lecturer has, for no apparent reason, brought a minigun - while others chant arcane magic, invoke demons, pledge their very souls to the devil to help them beat their former mentor.
Thand, of course, wields none of these fierce armaments. He doesn't need to. All he has is what he knows. His fists open and the fabric of reality bends. At the merest command of his tongue, time ceases to exist.
Thand: All of you are going to die here.
Then he begins.
In the scholar's tower of Deitopos, hidden well within the realm of dreams, a miniature reproduction of those exact cogs whir and spark at the exact same moment, turning an ornate watch hand over to a beautifully embossed gold number: "25". The watch is examined by its owner, the NeScholar Arkng Thand, puffing blue smoke over its facade.
Thand: So soon?
He snaps shut the book he was reading - An Experiment with Time, by J.W. Dunn - and replaces it on his endless bookcase.
Thand: Remarkable.
As a younger man, Thand had taken part in some of the most important events of NeS history, although none had been chronicled during the focal reign of the NeSHeroes. He had shaped the very course of human endeavour under a variety of glib aliases, never once feeling a pang of regret that no one would understand the magnitude of his contributions. To him, notoriety was as cheap and unnecessary as morality - concepts that could only hinder progress if adhered to.
When he had first been abandoned, Thand had railed against his immortal lifespan, devoting himself to conflict and destruction. He raged as the world trembled, turning his limitless energies to chaos. Adai Theos, he had been then, world-breaker, bone-crusher. He fought with his fists alone, and for a time, it was enough to shape the world.
Thand: I believe it is time. If only someone had the werewithal to become my assistant...ah, but a man can dream.
As he had grown older, his body refusing to bend and break with time's rigours, his mind remaining alive and aware as his companions' own were dulling and cooling like clay, Thand had come to an epiphany. He cast aside arms and mortal possessions, and devoted his endless life to knowledge. In this simple, pious act, Thand destined himself to become the most powerful being that ever walked the earth.
Thand: Let it begin, then.
After all, a man can, in a single lifetime, learn just enough of the nature of reality to turn his hair white and cause him to lose his mind. But if a man could not lose his mind...if he had not one lifetime to give, but as many as were necessary...what dark secrets of time and space would be his to command?
Thand dusts lint off his green suit, takes one more puff of his pipe, and disappears. The disappearance is not garnished by a wizard-like puff of smoke or crackle of electricity - Thand is simply gone.
IN THE HOLLOWED-OUT SHELL OF BIG BEN...
Fifty men stand arguing in the shell of a building, a building that was once a headquarters for heroes. The men are variously old, young, rich and poor - distinguished only by a quiet, almost ferocious mental intensity. They are the NeScholars.
NeScholar 1: I'm sick of waiting around, Walter! We have assembled a team, we should go now!
The current leader of the NeScholars, a massive wad of bulk in a tweed suit, bristles noticeably.
Walter: We have not been 'waiting around', my good man. We have been observing the right time to strike.
A young, thin man in a lavender suit and small-framed glasses steps forward.
Matthias: I have to agree. I mean, as part of this so-called 'strike team', we're not ready to take on a military target! We're academics, scholars of the Never-ending Story! I mean, look at this man -
He holds up a 6 x 8 glossy of a fearsome, grizzled Soviet relic in a trenchcoat.
Matthias: - how are a bunch of pencil-pushers and dissertation publishers meant to assassinate The Last True Evil?
As these words are being spoken, a figure materialises above them, coming to rest neatly on one of the blasted platforms. The shadows of destroyed gears and pulleys cast a darkness on his face.
Arkng Thand: Good evening, my former peers.
Such is the galvanic force of Arkng Thand's presence that some of the NeScholars are pathetically grateful to see him, hoping against hope that he will shoulder some of their scholarly burden. Walter, one of the few NeScholars who was present at the day Thand abandoned them all, merely scowls.
Walter: Arkng Thand. Why have you returned?! Here to lump misery on us, no doubt.
Thand: Your lack of foresight has doomed you, Walter. As monumentally dim as you are, I was prepared to let you live out your autumn years in peace. That was, however, before you set this whole society against the NeSHeroes.
Walter stabs an accusing finger at the shadow in the alcove, who merely smiles beningly.
Walter: Not all the NeSHeroes, you old fool! HIM! THE TRUE ENEMY OF US ALL! THE TRUE EVIL AMONG US!
Thand raps his cane on the ground. It carries the sound effect of a cannon blast, and immediately silences Walter.
Thand: You have perverted this society, Walter. Our founding credo was never to intervene. NEVER.
Walter: "Fiat justitia, ruat coelum."
Thand: "Let justice be done, though the heavens may fall?" Empty words, oldfriend. And they have cost you all your lives.
Thand casts his cane aside and throws his arms into the air.
Walter: KILL HIM!
The NeScholars are, for a body of academics, armed to the teeth. Some carry conventional weapons - one noted Cambridge lecturer has, for no apparent reason, brought a minigun - while others chant arcane magic, invoke demons, pledge their very souls to the devil to help them beat their former mentor.
Thand, of course, wields none of these fierce armaments. He doesn't need to. All he has is what he knows. His fists open and the fabric of reality bends. At the merest command of his tongue, time ceases to exist.
Thand: All of you are going to die here.
Then he begins.
The Last True Evil - consistent nobody in the Discussion Forum since 1998
I also subconsciously referenced 
The sight of someone being mushed into paste was bound to be a high-light for the day. Soriel was one of the loudest amongst them. Bokken, on the other hand, was furiously jealous.
