Ultranova
The pursuers gain ground with haste, the trained legs of the soldiers working like steam trains blasting their engines at full potency, a stampede of hasteful personas, each their own individual yet all with the same goal in mind: catch them.
In almost no time, they reach the opposite end of the kilometer-long room, without any time to soak up the glorious scenery the semi-circular door swings open revealing the mighty ante-chamber, its vibrations ring out in the walls, accompanying the maddened chase that the pursuers had to endure, yet again, their final barrier lies ahead, a circular door of massive proportions.
The circular door rotates, completing the pattern of the etches and the slits, the rays of cyan and white shooting outwards and meshing in on themselves in a radial, mesmorizing pattern would be not appreciated by the soldiers that now witness, just as the betrayer did, an impossibility.
Bathed in white-golden light, they see the tremendous shine of the core, feelings overflown by some strange effect that'd swivel the emotional of even the strongest of wills, yet they had no time for that, for at the edge of the center, stood the outline of a darkened figure, sword in hands, their face was turned towards the ball of white light that was the core, surrounded by see-through plasma, how'd they stand so close to a star? How are we even alive seeing this? Those questions flew through the mind of them, yet it was met with the silence of an uninpeded will to get to the figure.
The last stretch of 100 meters between them, would time favor the pursuers, or the pursued? A maddened charge to at last catch the perpetrator of the crimes, the last chance, all within their grasp yet so close to falling into the infinite void below them!
Namek
The Betrayer now stands within the core's warm embrace, less than a meter is apart from them and the center of The Anvil, within any normal situation they'd be dead instantly, yet, a sensation of peacefullness fills them. Their sword resonates, it sings the same song that the core itself does, as if two were of the same kind, it is almost as if the sword is being pulled towards the very epicenter of the core, that, enveloped in a plasma that is almost completely see-through, seems like a white sphere, completely within The Betrayer's grasp.
Their hands tighten around the grip of the misterious blade, the grin and happyness laid evident across their face, their other hand is motioned towards the grip of it, completing a stance of total control over the blade, all that is left is that final charge, the final push towards the unknown boundaries, a final leap of faith to end the maddened chase from their pursuers.
Motion! The last step, as with fire hotter than the core itself burns within their soul, sing the song of the blade, backened by the choir of The Anvil!
