Scalpel listened with interest to Astral’s report, despite his connections in Moon and Star Territories he had not managed to discover this, and the news invigorated him. The discussion of a god almost reaching a deathly state was almost delicious to him, the viscera and carnage it must have wrought, the flesh and blood he could have analysed, he wished deeply that he could have been there. 

When Astral brought forth the cloth bound object Scalpel eyed it suspiciously and with a hint of incredulity. What object could the pony have brought that could possibly change the course of his studies? Unless… no, the other had been careful with such things, he expected as much from this one – Crashing Wave? If he recalled the rumourmonger’s whisperings correctly- the gods were fickle…. Still…

Scalpel began unwrapping it slowly, not wanting to be disappointed with a sudden reveal of something else and replied to Astrals inquiries in a careful manner. 

“Indeed I have heard of such rumours, although I gave them more credence than yourself given the falling of one of these- “- he waved a hoof in a impatient gesture – “Gods or Demigods as they may be. On my way back to this Greater Abode after the Trottingham incident I even managed to meet one of them in person.” 

One eye peered up for a reaction before looking down again at his work.

“Don’t worry yourself about it, you are not missing anything. Foul tempered imperious creatures they are, and I doubt they’d give a lick of salt about most of mortal kind, especially given their current disastrous influences in Old Hoof and – if I am not mistaken – Star Harbour, both ending in the near eradication of both populations, one of which I witnessed firsthoof.”

“Yes… it does seem that these new gods bear no resemblance to their forbearers, all we can hope for at this rate is that there will be enough of us left by the time they are finished with the planet.” 

Reaching the end of the roll of fabric, and with only one thin wrap of cloth separating him from the hidden prize, he paused, heart in mouth at the prospect of what awaited him. 

Slowly, carefully, he levitated the last fold of cloth away…

And his eyes widened in shock and elation. His face turned from that of one of trepidation to almost madden enthusiasm and desire, rippling with profound ecstasy and rapture. If Scalpel had been on his hooves he would have staggered, instead he flopped back on his high arm chair and let out a sign of contentment. 

Already his mind was churning, the Machine god within him howling with laughter which sounded like the slicing of knife blades and the crackle of flashing electricity. Images and designs flashed through his head like wildfire and a he could barely keep track of it all, but what he grasp was revolutionary to the highest degree.

The God Machine must be built.

Tremulously, Scalpel held the long, beautiful Alicornal horn before him, its divine elegance radiant despite its loss from its master, its crafting pure perfection created by the forces of nature, guided by “She”. Despite it not being part of the Alicorn anymore, he could still feel the immense magical pulse which lingered over it, a pulse which under his ministrations and machines would become a fount of power that had been unknown in the world before this time.

Already he could see it, the divine eldritch blade which would pierce the realm of magic open and lead to his arising. Forged from the two materials of ethereal majesty, and combined under rituals all but lost to time, but now unearthed from the sands by himself, and used to access the powers of the Mundus in full.

And then… Godhood. 

Already he could feel the thrill of magic dance around his hooves as the machine god and he revelled in the power which had been laid before them, their forms becoming closer and blending into one enough slightly. Gradually amidst the darkness his eyes blackened, the pupils darkened from watery blue to deepest purple with a glow of magic, his hair became more luxuriously silver and mane gaining a hint of golden bronze, for that moment god entity and equine were combined in awful perfection.

Looking out he let out something which Scalpel almost never did.

He laughed.

A deep sonorous chuckle both as foreboding as it was divine, mixed voices of that of a god and a stallion combined with the ethereal grinding and slicing of machinery and magic. 

“Oh̬̤͈ͣ̔̃ͪ̔̂̚ ̫̖̩̗ͥͅA̞̱̪̣ͅs͈͚͕̦͌ͥ̿̌̈t͌̓̅̓̓r̬̱̱̲͎a̮̯͙̲̞̠̯͋̊l̦̘̪̺,̦̹͆́̍ ̥̥̭̯̹y̖̭͙̫̗̘ͥ͗ͨ̆̽̇ō͂́ü̳̱̖̣̫͉ ̪̖̮̖̟͖͈ͩ̇̃̂ͦh̦ͬͧͥ̇â̮̥̰̫̽̓v̻ȅͫ̏ͫͬ̌ ̹ͥ͒b͎̱̟̲̮͈̎ͫr̮̣̿ͦ̅ͥ̈́͑͆o̘ͬ̽ͩ͒̈́ͦu̥̯̱̤̜͙͑͐̒ͩ͗ͅg̍h̘͉͈͇̠̙ͪṯ ̟̻͍̭͎̯͚̆ͪ͑̀m͕̞ͦͥè͙̲ͬͬ̂ ̭̅ͪ̅̓̉̇a͑̇͊̇̚ ̻̤̬̭̖̙̇̑̋͋̔m͚̗̞̳̗̞̳ͪ̋̃ī͉̮ͬg͆ͣͤ̆h̰͇̰̞͓̲̲ͫͭ̈͂̾̊t͙̐y͔̗̜̭̭͖ͨ ̮͔̼̠͈̀ͪͩͨͥͦͨg͖̖̯̪̽͒ͬ̔͐ͤ̓i͙͖̗ͅf̝͖ͯ͆ͫ͐̇t̘͍̥̼̯̄ ̱̥̀ͪi̟̬͇̗̣͔͛n̠̰͈̈̂̐͊͑ͬ̿dͬ͊͐̓̂e̞͕͍̜ͮ̂ͮe̦̼̠̗̻ͮ̄ͤͧd̥̺̝̯̜̊.͎̠̣̻̿ͯ͑ͧͩͦ.̱̗̘̥̄ͦͭ.͎̤”

The Machine ponies stiffened, and all at once turned to look at Scalpel directly, the most expressive of them, the Risen positively gawping at the voice coming out of their Father. 

“The Lord Within speaks to us!” Lambda proclaimed, knelling before the figure in the chair which was both their Father and their God, “Holy is this day.” 

“I ̳͈͉͙res̩̲̹͉̭̠c̖͙͈͍̞͔i̩̟̖̗n͕̣̟d̩̜͇̪ ͖m̯͉͈̖͎̜̘y ̟͇t̟͖h̝̗̰r͇̱̳̰̰̥e̻̯̺̤̻̠ͅa̪̯̮t͍͈s̳̝̝ ̞̯̺͔̘̖A͕̝͕̥̣s͉̹̯ͅt̝̪̬̮̖̦̮r͓̖̩a̦̥l̰̗͚͇͈,̙͔̣̳͙̺̠ ̟͉w̹͉̯͔̯i̘̭t̥̥͇̗̘͔ͅh̻͚ͅ ̘̺t̲̤̥̣̣h̼̤i̥s͔͉̬̺͖̜ ̠̥̤͖̞g͇̥̜̤̰ͅi͔͔̱f̯̮̝̫͍̞t̥̮̞̩̥̯ ̯̭͎̖̱yo̦u̘ ̩͎̗̝̲̹̥h̜̤͉̺̤̞̰a̼̭͙̠̥͎̳v̹e͕ s̗̥̗e͉̲̮͇̳c͔̲̖͍̠̞̹u̱͔͖̗̺ͅr͇̠͇̟͇̠ed͇̠̱ ̦̼͎̺͇y̠̖̬̳̭ọ̯͓̩u̪r̞s̞e̯lf̗̖̜͙͙̝̘ ͍f̗̗̱o̖̗̟̬͚̜͕r͍̼ev͇ͅe̺̺͈͚̥͇̤r̖̞̮̥̞̥m̼̼͇o͍̭̭͙r͓̤̱̮e̻̻ ͕̺͖̩w̻̖͇i̝t̜͍͉͍͓h̭̮̦͓̟͔̘i̻̗͖͔̭n̼ ͍͈t͔̺͚h̠ͅͅi̼̠͇͕s̞͓͉͈̳͇͚ ͚̥̺̗̟̣͇p̖̼̦̭l̳̗̥ḁ̳͇̩̖̱c̳͉͕͇e̜͓̼͓̩͈͕.͍͍ ̲̝̯̣B̖u͇̥̬̟̺̫͈t̲̩̜ ͚̘̥̫̥͇I ̯͈s̹͔̱̱͎̫̝e̙̰͔̮ṇ̥s͇̼e̘̤̭̗̭̗̙ ͙̠͔̜̼̻̥t̟͕̘h̙̫̜̜͉i͖͇s̘͍̞ ̠͔͙̬̲is͙̗̱̜͕̰̬ ̙̬n̲͈̩͕͖ͅo̥͙t̬̪̤̗͚̫ m̤̠̲͚̙e͈͉̖r͇͍̝̲̭̮̩el̬̪̭y͓̘ͅ ̤̣̻̹͓̥͈i̫̫̟͔̮̫n̟̺͔̠̱̤ ͚̻̖͕̫̠̹t̖̘̰̝h͇̩e ̜i͙͓̮͔̗͓n̖̭̤͉̭te̫r̘̣̺e̗̟̳̜̻s̞̪̼̬t̲̮̩̺̯͍s̥̮ ̯o͙͕̤̟f͕̻̖̣͙͎ ̤̮̤͖̺m͔y͎͇͙͍ g̪͍̤͓o͔̗͇a͍̪̰̺͈̭̞l͔̰̖s͎̞, b͉̬̝u̼t̜̟̗̦ p̰͎͔̬̯͚a̟r͔̗͎t̰̼̹͓ ̤͎͚̫̹o͕f̹ ̠̥̹̤y̲͔͎͎̦̞o͈u̙̠͖͚r̯̜̖͕̰̻ ͍̣͙o̱̙w̭̼̫̖̬͈ṉ a͍̺̲̭̯s͖ ͇̹̮̘͖̤w̤͙̼̟̠̠e̟͈͖ͅl͔̪̹l̦̠͍̯.̦̣͎̬̫̩͉.̦̫͉͔͖. ̯̺͉̹Ṣ̗o ̘̠̝͇̠̼̳t̟͇̘̤̫̦̟e̮̥l̖̺̠̗l̞̺̺̠̹ m̲͙̲e ̺̺̝̦̬ͅA̭̜̮͓̱st̬̱̬̟̲r̫̼̙͇̖͇a͕̝̲̙͉̗̪l̮̤͇̟ͅ,̣ͅ ẉ͈͍͓̭̗̮h̦̫̭̭̮̰̣a̭̘͕̭͍͍͎t ̳̩i̭̺̠͍̥ͅs̖̟̻͙̻ ̠͓̼̬̥t͓͇̖̫̮̲hẹͅ ͍̬̦̜̰̜̰p̰̻̗r͓̦ḭ̼̲̟c̘͙̭͇e̳̻͍͔͎ ̹̝̝̬͕͓͚o͙̝͈f ͇̤̫̖t̥͔͈̯̝̮̺hi̘̫̝͔ṣ ̩a̺̬r͈̤͔͚t̺̗̲͙̪̫̜i̙̯̟̩̣f̭̤̮͈͔̣͔i͎̱̫͈͎̘c̹̭̝e͚̜̻ ̜̬o̪͕͍͍͉f̫͓ ̻͔͎̘͈̦h͉͚̻̜̟͔͈e͙̣̮͔͍͕a̟̻̱̭͉̺̪ṿ̟͖̣̺̩e͔̩̦̥̯n͎?̘̹͕͔̝̰̪”

Scalpel again laughed, but this one a deep and welcoming one almost unheard of since he was a young foal. At this point, with the blade of heaven within his grasp, Scalpel would be willing to part with much to secure it, His eyes ablaze still with otherworldly magic, his enthusiasm untroubled.

[i] A new age awaits us… The age of Gold has come to pass in blood and horror… the age of Silver now arises upon the horizon… and that age shall be filled with machines, fire and magic.[/i]