Niciel watched as more and more gods and goddesses appeared into the void. They were to be her brethren, her friends and family now. Niciel put on a smile and tried to be as warm and friendly to all of them, unconsciously giving off an aura of those qualities. As each new presence appeared, Niciel instantly became aware of each being's name and the powers each one possessed.

Vowzra, a being that already existed before Niciel made her appearance. He possessed power over Time. Niciel could tell that great things would come from him, whatever they may be.

Logos, a being that exhibited a strong presence. A god of Order, it seemed. Niciel detected no intent to harm from him, though it was hard to say anything else about him.

Zephyron, a being that radiated energy and power. A god of Change. Niciel felt a slight pang of recognition still residing within her consciousness, though Niciel could not make heads or tails out of it. However, that feeling was quickly moved aside when more beings appeared.

Deagon. A god of Lies and Trickery. Niciel mentally sighed in dismay. A being that was nothing but trouble. it didn't seem like he would cause any significant harm, though, so Niciel decided to be lenient on him. That wasn't to say she wouldn't at least keep an eye on him, though.

Vakarlon. Another god of Trickery, though of a different nature. Niciel was then made aware of her own aura she was emitting when it changed and began emitting her disapproval and dismay. Quickly shutting it off, Niciel decided that it was for the best that she accept them for who they were. After all, not everything was going to be perfect.

Vestec. Oh dear. Oh deary dear. A god of Chaos. Her opposite in every way. Niciel could tell that she was going to have her work cut out for her. His very presence invoked an unpleasant feeling within her.

This one was odd, indeed. It formed itself to create a... deer, as Niciel somehow recalled the name of the animal, but then it began to... rot. Niciel watched in surprise as part of the deer's body broke down and then formed a cocoon of plantlife around itself. Even in its shell, Niciel could feel the pain and suffering it was going through, and pitied its existence. A poor creature, indeed. Still, it did hold a great power within itself, power that Niciel would make sure to keep safe and place in good hands.

Teknall. Finally, a being that didn't have prominent negative traits. A god of Masonry. The specifics of it eluded Niciel, but Niciel could tell that it would bring interesting things to this void. Already the god was hard at work, which Niciel respected.

Kyre. A god of war. War wasn't necessarily bad, Niciel thought, but conflict was always unpleasant. However, Niciel noticed that Kyre was not some barbarian, but a being of honor. She trusted him well enough to not take things too far, though she would intervene if she absolutely had to.

Julkolfyr. A god of darkness. Niciel didn't know what to think of this being, really. Niciel would think that it would not be something she would really like, considering they were of differing domains. However, it wasn't exactly the case. It was just... there. A curious thing, indeed.

Jvan. A... being... that exhibited the beauty of flesh. Niciel didn't know what to think of this one either. Again, curious.

Reathos. A god of Death. Niciel supposed someone had to do it. Looking at him, however, made Niciel feel... sad for some reason. It was strange. It was like she knew what it was like to die, yet it was an uncomfortable feeling. Clearing her mind of such unpleasant thoughts, Niciel moved on.

Ilunabar. A goddess of Beauty. It differed from the other being's form of beauty.

Astarte. A goddess of Magic. She was a curious being, indeed. For a moment, Niciel wondered if they would be friends. However, Niciel sensed something within Astarte. Niciel wasn't sure what it was, only that it would lead to unpleasantness. Perhaps in time, though, that would change.

Ull'Yang. A presence that just existed. Niciel wondered about this one, feeling something slightly familiar, but that soon passed as if it never even existed.

Vulamera. A goddess of Intelligence. Definitely a being to befriend and watch over. She was curious about everything, but she didn't seem to possess any restraint for that curiosity. Perhaps of things went too far, Niciel would step in.

Toun. This god was one that made a strong impression on Niciel. He address each being one by one, Niciel included. She was so surprised by this new development that she barely had time to nod in response before he went on to address the next being.

This made Niciel realize what she was doing. She was merely observing, but not getting involved with anything. Niciel realized that it was time she began her duties as a goddess. There was no reason to delay. If anything, it was the time to act.

Already others were acting. Toun was adding to Teknall's designs, soon followed by a few others. Niciel felt an obligation to do the same, but she had no ideas to add. This was beyond her area of expertise. However, Niciel had noticed Vestec's meddling, as well as his foul intentions. Niciel suddenly appeared behind Vestec, her wings spread and glowing bright white, while her face expressed a strong glare. She gave off an aura of disapproval as Niciel spoke, "Vestec, was it? I do hope you're not causing trouble so soon." There was a pause to allow Vestec to explain, though it was quickly cut short when Niciel continued, "I will not tell you to stop, for it is unfortunately in your nature. However, I do expect you to keep it to a minimum. If not, you should expect to see me again. That is all." Niciel disappeared just as suddenly, reappearing next to Slough's cocoon. Niciel raised a hand, and it began to glow white. Placing that hand on the cocoon, Niciel immediately felt the beginnings of Vestec's power within it. It was already deeply rooted within the cocoon, and Niciel could do little to remove it. Instead, she began to add her own power into it, reaching out to Slough's mind. Don't forget, Life is also filled with pleasantries. Patience. Virtue. Kindness. Happiness. After giving Slough an extra gift to help lessen the pain it felt from its own existence, Niciel removed her hand, having done what she could.

Ull'Yang could feel the pressure increasing inside of him. He knew what was going to happen and he embraced it, for it was his obligation to do so. He raised his head and looked around at all the others. Some were idling about, waiting for something to happen, just like he was, and some were actively seeking interaction with their fellow brothers and sisters. They were all so very much different but at the same time, they let out this aura of...eternity.

Of course, he knew that they were all immortal beings; these needless containers of the flesh are but a means of better communication with the rest of their brethren, they weren't truly needed. Yet, why didn't he give off the same aura as them? Was he not one of them? The strange thought puzzled him. Seemingly unable to get an answer, he decided it was for the better to let the matter take its course. Soon, It would be revealed both to him and the others.

While he was lost in thought, one of the others approached him. "Ull'Yang!" Startled, Ull'Yang looked at the source of the voice. He knew this one. His name was Toun. Ull'Yang could not find a single flaw in his appearance but he all too well, nothing was perfect. He somewhat pitied Toun for striving to grasp something as unattainable as is perfection. "Brother. See the life of Slough, her life of suffering. She is spreading mindlessly thin, as per her nature. Without nourishment, she will surely die. Please, feed our creation. Renew its vigour so that paradise may reign unobstructed."

Ull'Yang steered his attention towards the cocoon that was encompassing Slough, shielding her from the primal void of the world. He felt a connection towards Slough, a particular longing to protect and provide for· emerged from the depths of his crystalline husk. "Indeed, an environment like this is not a place where life should be. It shouldn't come as a surprise that she is suffering. Let us go..." Ull'Yang responded but Toun was already gone back to Sloughs' side, mingling with one of his other brethren, Teknall.

Ull'Yang floated forward, slowly moving towards Slough's cocoon while thinking of how he could help her survive until a suitable environment that could sustain life was created. "Oh, I might as well do that thing..." he thought. Satisfied with his plan, he arrived at his destination. He glanced at the other gods near him before reaching out, placing his transparent palm on top of the cocoon. "Oh, she has already been tainted by Vestec's chaotic essence?" Ull'Yang searched for God of Chaos but couldn't find him. "Although some of the essence found its roots inside her, most of it was repelled by her." Ull'Yang nodded, "this much chaos shouldn't really pose a problem."

"Sister," Ull'Yang send out to Slough. "It is not time for you to come out yet; You must be vigilant, for its a virtue that comprehends the rest, or supplies for all that may be wanting in them. You should be suspicious of both your benefactors as well as your enemies, for you don't know their motives. You should be watchful in order to shield yourself from those that harbor ill thoughts towards you. Lastly, you should be compassionate to those truly in need of your help, for not everyone deserves it."

He then raised his arm, clenched his fist tightly and swung forwards with force, punching through the cocoon and embedding his right arm inside it. "I am but an empty husk right now, waiting for my true self to arrive, but that doesn't mean that I have no way of helping you survive this predicament..." Ull'Yang then raised his left arm and with a flash, cut off his other arm. He staggered backwards, trying to get a hold of himself. "Take my arm, feed on its energies. It might not be on par with my true essence, but that's all I have to give right now..." he send one last thought and fell backwards, slowly drifting in the void of the world.

"COME"

He opened his eyes.

And then He laughed.

It was beautiful. All of it. All the nothing that shone before him. All the thrumming tendrils of potential that turned and thrashed in joyous being. Every single shred of it beaming.

It was only right for him to take His share of this endless feast of delights, and join in among the dancing gods of reality. So Mammon made himself real. He gave himself an ashen body and dripping mercury eyes, rich crimson robes and a crown of flint inlaid with nacre. Jutting out beneath His crown were two curved horns, black as jet and ringed with heavy bangles of ivory and lead. His teeth were shining quartz and his feet were splayed like an eagles, or a crow. He stretched out His arms and raised a hand to His face. It was dry, and covered in cinders. He willed a strip of black to rise upon his palm. It wriggled and wiggled, twisting and turning one way to the other. Another being! Born out of the eye of his brain, to be true. He gave it oily scales and a head to see with, small tourmaline wings and a stinging tail. It spun some more, as jubilant in its existence as He was to see it. It snaked beneath his knuckles, squirming one side to the next, squirting small happy noises. Mammon crushed it between his fingers, and the slick blackness returned to liquid nothing. A thick tongue snaked out between His glassy grin and lapped it up. He could no longer keep His glee within Him, so he exploded with a burst of blinding light. Away went the arms and legs and eyes and horns, stowed away for another time. He was Him, His truest form, in great letters writhing with power. He could feel the world, all its might and splendour. He could create any wondrous creature his wandering thoughts touched upon. Every inch of the world was magnificent in all its cruel flaws and imperfections.

But He knew He had a purpose in this life beyond simple exultation. The world was beautiful, yes, but beauty had no meaning. He felt the presence of the other older gods, and knew some for what they were -- the evil necessary to reveal the good for what it was. But there was more than just good and evil. Everything needed to be tested, everything needed its proof. Just as water must flow to be called a river, and fire must burn to be called fire, righteousness must be attacked and bent to be called true morality.

One picked Him up as He had held the worm. He felt the gaze of two mighty beings and for the first time knew how atoms felt. One spoke. Their voice was like the rise and fall of mountains.

“Thou art become Adversity, proof of creation. Thou art become the wretched advocate who must stand opposed to all your brethren’s doing. Thou art the one who will test the gods and their world to its breaking, and through breaking, reveal its full grandeur. That is thine dark task. Do it well, young one, for no one will thank you.”

It was then that the Adversary knew His name for what it was. He smiled at the other one’s speech, for it pleased Him greatly. The world would be His for the eating, juiced of all its wonders and shoved down His gullet. He would gladly serve to ripen its fruit, if it made the resultant solution all the sweeter.

So when the other set Him down, He searched among His brethren for the excellence that could be gleaned. And He found much. He found time to mark the passing of not-yet creation, He found the laws by which it whirred, He found light by which all that was good was formed, and darkness and corruption by which it was fought, He found twisting change and the twisting beauty of flesh. He found numbers and their games, and a sharpened mind behind it; He found war, the ultimate test, might against might. He found the most captivating of all, that which He worked for, that which enamoured Him most -- Life, and its end, Death. He found magic, and He found...souls, to make life and death worth something; He found the true beauty of the Narrative, although He saw beauty in all things. He found...someone. They seemed different, strange -- one to watch with interest. But He found knowledge, the contents of creation; and He found...blueprints.

His eyes widened with excitement. The world as it would truly be, written down in front of Him! He walked towards it, as much as walking had any meaning in this world-before-the-world. He beheld its great designer, its architect and builder. The Adversary spoke with a voice like oiled brimstone.

“Brother. God. Make this world a place worth being. Make it well, lest my testing test it beyond its measures. You have created strange materials of adamantine and mithril; good. Make it magical. Give it the power to make power of its own. Here, let me show you; let me show you how to give the world its shine…”
He stooped over the blueprints for what might have been an age. He wrote of herbs, and spices; of bone and ivory; of potion, and alchemical elements to add to Teknell’s more prosaic work; and he wrote down secret words, words to wake the world’s locked-up magic. But something stopped Him in His tracks.

A perfect god of porcelain. A god who sought flawlessness in a place already flawed. A god who stood against all that Mammon stood for. The Adversary wept for him. He called out, that he might be saved from his hopeless task.

“Brother! I see your struggle. You fight for that which is perfect. But do you not see! It will always be imperfect, and that is what makes it perfect! Without the broken, how will we know the whole? Without the deformed to show their blemishes, how will we know the formed in all their wondrous beauty?”
He frowned, and thought for a second. Then He raised a strip of black, and willed the serpent into being once more. As it twisted on the palm of His hand, He enlarged it, solidified it, until it was too big to fit. It slunk around His burning letters, waxing mighty. Its wings were rainbows, its eyes now iron. Without a reality to be real in, it was no true demon. But it was close enough in form.
“Do you not see? It is not perfect. It will never be perfect. But it is mine, and so I love it.”

Vakarlon decided he needed to actually help make things if he wanted to be able to have any fun. So, he looked at the aura of his "siblings" for a quick analysis of what he was dealing with before getting to work.

Niciel seemed a little self-righteous. He rolled his eyes at her dismay and noted how she changed her aura the moment she was aware of it. Did she really think he had not noticed her scorn? No matter, her respect and approval were unnecessary.

Vowzra would be interesting to watch. Time was a powerful force and seldom tapped into despite how much the mortals wished they could. Mortals? They didn't exist yet, why was he already remembering their desires?

Logos. Oof. Order and Chaos were of no matter to Vakarlon but the extremes bothered him. Too much Chaos and things fell apart and cunning plans came unraveled. Too much Order and things became boring quite quickly.

Zephyrion, a being of pure change... Change was good but it had to be harnessed intelligently and Zephryion seemed focused on change for change's sake.

Deagon. Lies and Trickery. Well, well, well. It appeared he had some competition. Suddenly a strange thought popped into his head. I must slay him and consume his essence. Otherwise, I will be largely unappreciated in this reality. What in the name of Fate? That wasn't right! No, no, Deagon could be an interesting ally! Besides, consuming another deity's essence was just plain wrong! Wasn't it. Vakarlon shook his head and turned away.

Vestec. Vakarlon sighed, Vestec was the polar opposite of Logos. Then he brightened. He could watch the two interact! That should be quite fun. He reminded himself to try to get them near each other as often as possible.

Slough. Poor beast couldn't even think. Still, Slough occupied a very important role. As such, she would have to be protected from some of the more malevolent of his siblings. Despite the lack of cunning or even intelligence on Slough's part, Vakarlon decided he would take the necessary role of protector.

Teknall. A hard-working craftsman. Such a fellow was no doubt a serious sort and would have to be joked with but Vakarlon decided it would be too cruel to do this by messing with Teknall's toys.

Kyre. A serious, honorable god of war. This could be fun.

Julkolfyr. A god of darkness. Vakarlon was not sure what to make of this one. He would have to see how things went.

Jvan. Vakarlon was rather nonplussed by the being. What was it? He sensed the being had something to do with beauty of the flesh. He scratched his head and muttered "Fate has an interesting perception of beauty."

Reathos. The necessary death god. Such types were generally gloomy, (where did that come from?) but one shouldn't jump to conclusions like that one goddess Niciel had.

Ilunabar. A story-teller. Vakarlon was rather fond of a good story so maybe he would try to befriend this one.

Astarte. A goddess of magic. Rather standard stuff, Vakarlon was about to turn away when he sensed something. He looked more closely at Astarte and smiled. She seemed like a fun sort to interact with.

Vakarlon watched in shock and morbid delight as Ull'Yang fed his arm to Slough! Now this one was one to watch! Assuming he didn't feed himself to the others too soon...

Vulamera. A clever, curious one. A little condescending though. Vakarlon sensed how she saw her siblings, although he and Daegon had gotten off lightly. He would see about her.

Toun. Oh the poor fool... Vakarlon saw that this one strived for the impossible and knew what he strived for was impossible. Toun would torment himself with standards unreachable even for a god. Vakarlon shook his head, to toy with this one would be cruel and unnecessary.

Mammon. A being dedicated to test roughly everything. Interesting to watch for sure, but Vakarlon knew the tests would include his trickery as well. As such, it would pay to get too close.

With his brief evaluations complete, he walked over to where several of his siblings were working. He placed his hand on Slough's egg and gently offered a gift of his own, making sure that he did not force it upon her like Niciel and Vestec had. "But above both these gifts is the ability to choose between them. I offer you cunning and freedom. In addition I offer that which helps make life enjoyable. I offer you humor and mischief. Should you accept these gifts they are yours."

Vakarlon turned and looked sternly at Vestec and Niciel. "Each of you has tried to force corruption or goodness upon life. There must be balance. Excess malice spreads death not life. On the other hand one should never mistake kindness for weakness but too much of the former may lead to the latter. Slough is our sibling but she has the mind of an animal or infant. As such, she needs someone to help her and watch over her. As life is such a precious thing, I will assist in her protection."

With that, the Trickster walked to the blueprints. He gazed upon them and approved. The board for the immortal game was being set. He carefully added the potential for his ways to arise among this world, making sure not to alter anything the others had written. With this done, he walked back into shadow.

Kyre the Warmonger levitated silently into the void, an air of solitude skulking about wherever he "graced". Vulamera could feel his lonely soul, a desire for companionship like that between soldiers issued forth from his mind, whether he knew of it or otherwise. This one had a heavy moral compass, pointed unwaveringly in the direction of good-for-all. Oh, the poor, poor thing: Shadow of Revelations felt almost sorry for him. Had he been more aware, he would come to the understanding that there is no such achievable goal as the "greater good". It is only a lie fed by army generals to men about to die in a war.

That is one but justification among many for Vulamera's hatred of organized war. A young soldier shouldn't be killing for meager pay, he should be learning while his mind is still fresh; a tactician shouldn't be using his clever mind to plan mass death, he should be putting it to a service of peace. She did not expect a Child God to understand this.

Nonetheless, allies were forever valuable, so Kyre received a message composed of relatively simple words (for Vulamera) and emotional triggers to win his favour: "You, me, we're different. Unique. The other divinities have already started scheming, plotting, influencing all for themselves. But I can feel deep within me that you know the greater good: you know what is evil and how to oppose it. In this, we are one, and will be great friends, on the battlefield or at rest."

---

Vulamera smirked to herself. Slough was indeed a precious gift from Fate, even more potentially useable than Kyre, for she was the most pitifully malleable of the Child Gods... no, wait, "Child God" felt mistaken. This was not a child, nor even an infant, this was a fetus! Falsely protected within its obviously weak eggshell (for Vulamera had already studied its makeup and found it wanting), the Rotten One depended on mercy from those who crowded around like cooing women before a bundled newborn. Although they fed the weak one no milk, but instead sacrificed their own essence.

Ull'Yang, the Shining, drifted to the cocoon, coming to the beckon of Never-Perfect. He seemed so passionate when he gazed into the vine-coated resting place, bringing Vulamera hazy visions (memories?) of a father lowering his sickly daughter into a crib. How parental.

He next did something very not-parental, though when his massive fist came barreling, without warning, into the weak hiding place of this developing Goddess. Something like an internal shriek was ushered out of the Transcendent's Mothers mind, and she almost lunged herself into physical reality, just to hold back this apparent attack on the God of Life.

However, before she could take tangible form, Vulamera realized how utterly foolish she was being. She was acting almost like a Child God herself! It was clear from his body language- the submissive slope of his arms, the caring furrow of his brow, the unaggressive stance of his legs- that Ull'Yang's last intention was violence. As if to confirm her epiphany, the Shining severed his own arm with brutal efficiency, leaving an entire divine limb for Slough to feast on.

Vulamera's voice issued forth from nowhere and everywhere, so that all gathered around the egg would hear: "Do you realize what you have done, God of Sun? This is not only a valiant act of kindness, but the first act of kindness. I, Scribe of Souls, Recorder of the Gods, have taken great note of this. I will build my own library if need be, so that a place in this world will always remember the first sacrifice: Ull'Yang's gift to Slough!"

Not that she meant it. Oh, sure, she would record it; except she only does so because she records all significant events, and she already intended on forming a Divine Library- that much, at least, had been implanted on her at the moment of creation. Her praising words were for the intention of forming early friendships, which are the basis for alliances, which are the basis for power without violence. No actual sentiment was present in her heart.

Many siblings were there when Ilunabar arrived, many others arrived after her. One of those was also the first one to talk to her, unfortunately, he did not strike a good first impression.

“You don’t have to instruct me on my own function, I do not recall the moment where I asked for your guidance, and none of your machinations are of my concern” were the thoughts that crossed her mind. But, saying that would be far too rude and she had no interest in conflict.

Speaking of conflict, she started to wonder about Jvan. Most of the other beings had an unique claim on their domains, beauty however was divided between two deities, both with very different approaches. That made her brood about her role and on the different ways she could approach it.

Soon however her attention was caught by the commotion of her siblings assembling around the project. The deities had many views on how they would shape the world, but most of those didn’t bring anything but worry to the goddess. There was little harmony, it was at times either dull and orderly or annoyingly chaotic, all thanks to the many despotic plans being made by her siblings.

The situation was complicated, the goddess felt like she needed to claw a bit of the creation, but what would she do? She mused about constellations, flowers, gems, but all of these were already bound to exist. She wanted to be free from the chains of laws but also out of the unrefined chaos.

Finally an idea crossed her mind.

With a smile she approached the parchment. “This is an exceptional work, I wonder how I can add beauty to it?” She gracefully moved her hand over the parchment, not doing anything of note, just a few cosmetic changes “Such perfection, the way it all works is fascinating” finally her robes and jewelry gave her enough cover to hide what she would do next.

One of her fingers quickly slipped across the border parchment, discretely cutting off a minuscule stripe along the way. The goddess stored the bit of parchment on her sleeve and went back to the void flattering of her order obsessed siblings. “It's better if I stop now, I wouldn’t want my vanity on the way of your outstanding work”

She floated away from the crowded area, going closer to one of her most peculiar siblings, Slough. The barrier around her had many components, from vines to flesh, what the muse was looking for however were the barks. A single wooden splinter would be more than enough.

There were deities nearby, but the ones she was worried about were not there. Ull'Yang didn't look like he was as controlling as the ones over the parchment. And trying to hide from the presence of Vulamera was a foolish idea.

The essence of life and the fabric that will form reality, she was now holding both in her hand. She focused her might on her palm, infusing the items with her power. The splinter grew into a twig, which slowly arched in the shape of an harp. The fabric was divided in strings and they fitted perfectly into the harp.

Dreamweaver

Her project was now bound to the creation. The potential of the locked ideas and feelings that a sentient being has will no longer be wasted, Ilunabar’s creation will bloom in the sleeping mind of the living, giving it a brief moment of freedom from reality. She called those “Dreams”

With a satisfied smile Ilunabar was about to move away, she had a lot of brooding to do and a lot of plans to form…

But…

She was not compassionate, not at all, her role would require her to watch tragedies. But this time, just this time, she felt a bit of empathy for her sister. She didn’t know if the harp would work on not before creation or if it could bring a dream to a god, but she had to at least try.

“It’s not a lot, but I hope it brings some solace” She said, as she played a short tune about ample woodlands and pleasant breezes.

-Posted by mistake

Waiting and watching as the new gods came into being, Julkolfyr noted that the beings began to evaluate each other and that they would pass over him with but simple curiosity and then move on to the others. He, as before followed suit , and began to evaluate them for he had his own curiosities.

Vakarion was one he could sympathise with, but only to an extent, he seemed to be a bit to judgmental on the actions of others. That would eventually pass however and Julkolfyr thought that they would get along quite well.

Zephyrion, the winds of change, he liked it, it held the potential for entertainment with the others, causing disruption where they sought stability.

Vestec, Julkolfyr found himself realizing, was boring. He was corrupting chaos, yes, but constant chaos is so predictably unpredictable that you simply expected to never expect anything from it.

Logos. How could one being be so dull? Nothing should be forced to carry such a bland burden such as order and so all Julkolfyr could do, at the moment, was pity Logos.

Kyre, was interesting. Julkolfyr got the impression that war was chaotic and yet, unlike Vestec, was a sort of controlled chaos. Interesting, he thought keeping Kyre in mind for later developments.

Vowzra was another who seemed to be just as bland as Logos, but he came to understand the need for the progression of time.

Deagon, Julkofyr brightened up at the sight of him. Subtle lying and manipulation of the mind to deceive, such an interesting thing. He liked it but knew he would have to be wary.

Teknall would have been boring save for the potential he held to craft that which had already settled on a form.

Jvan was….. different he found it interesting and at once lackluster. a self-annihilating creator, he was curious to see what would come of it.

Reathos, death incarnate, another that seemed to be of a protective nature of things as they are. He would be a thing to easily twist to his end, Julkolfyr mused.

Ull’yang was a potential annoyance, though if done correctly he would pay Julkolfyr no mind and leave him to his plans.

For astarte he could not bring himself to formulate a thought one way or the other, she was to remain an unknown for him and his plans. It would provide a little unpredictability to his own plans, a perfect function for the god of magic.

Mammon would certainly allow for the upheavals Julkolfyr wished and so left him alone to do as he wished eager to see what he would do.

He would have to keep a wary eye on Vulamera, she would be prove to be a invaluable ally and asset or a potentially terrible enemy.

Toun was a god that could be a great source of entertainment twisting and turning easily causing frustration with but the tiniest flaw. Julkolfyr settled on him as the first of his siblings to toy with.

Ilunabar, the muse. Such beauty he wondered what would be created and what would be inspired to be created because of her.

Niciel his opposite through the powers they wield. He saw as an equal to either argue or contend with, though after seeing Ilunabr an idea struck him. He would turn her to empathize with him not forcefully and decietfully, but through the horrible truth that darkness always held.

He rose from his place amongst the void and the other gods and made his way towards the blueprints that all had begun to gather round, and as he passed by Slough he brought his whiskers to the shell and refraining from feeding darkness into her, instead fed her concepts challenging all that the others had attempted to give her. Confusion, love that betrays another love, sacrifice for a misinterpreted cause, greed for the sake of others, and personal morality. He gave these in an effort to garner life that would not be on the side of good or on the side of evil but instead muddy the waters between, making it hard to fully judge correctly what was right and wrong.

“Not everything can be so clear cut my dear Slough.” He whispered to the cocoon

After he had wrought what he could on Slough he proceeded to the blueprints. They were quite imaginative, he had to admit, as he enjoyed what lay before him. He sighed as he realized a key thing that was missing and using his whiskers began to write with his own darkness. He began to add the emptiness needed between all things in order for them to work and created a vastness that stretched far, encompassing all. As he did this he had a mischievous thought and began to subtly change something. At the very base of the blueprint he began to weave together the very very basic things, entwining them to make them inseparable by any means making the ability to guess more then one thing at this scope uncertain. As he finished with this he spread throughout his creation and that of the others, and so uncertainty had come into universe to be.

Teknall and Toun were joined at the blueprint by Vestec. Teknall kept one eye on the newcomer, one who he sensed was a being of Chaos. When Vestec first joined the drawing, he did not mind. Teknall had no problem with the Universe having some quirks, some unique and unexpected features. If Vestec's intentions had been benign Teknall may have even let him continue unabated, but when Vestec went so far as to strike out some of his own writing Teknall snapped. He planted a muscular hand on Vestec's chest and forcefully pushed him away from the blueprint.

"Oi! These plans are important," Teknall growled, "Keep to your own parts of the plan, or bugger off."

At this moment Niciel stepped in to berate Vestec, which may have made the difference between this being a minor altercation or an actual brawl. Teknall took a deep breath to calm his nerves and turned back to the parchment. At this point he became aware of another presence, a Goddess unseen yet here all the same. Vulamera, the Goddess of Thought and Intelligence. Then he saw the writing on the parchment shift, blend, and combine. He watched in awe as the contributions of himself, Logos, Toun and even Vestec were brought together, redundant details merged and the myriad equations unified into a few, overarching wholes. Teknall marvelled at the rearranged plan, for it now looked as though it had been built that way from the beginning, rather than a base set of Laws with additions patched on haphazardly.

As this was going on, Ull'Yang walked up, and in a shock move he removed his own arm and fed it to Slough. As Vulamera exclaimed, this was indeed a valiant act of kindness and sacrifice- surrendering a part of his own being such that Slough would be able to survive the void, as well as whatever length of time it took for habitable worlds to form in the Universe. However, this sacrifice left Ull'Yang visibly weakened, and as Ull'Yang staggered backwards Teknall dropped what he was doing, stepped behind the Sun God and caught him.

"Easy there," Teknall said, "Let me patch that up for you."

He placed a hand on the stump, and around this stump formed a steel shell which extended over Ull'Yang's shoulder, braced onto Ull'Yang's crystal-clear body. From this shell extended rods, pistons, springs and joints, muscles and bones made of steel and iron. Once that had been formed, Teknall ran his hand down the prosthetic arm, covering it in a skin of polished steel. Finished, Teknall stepped back and looked at Ull'Yang. While it would feel strange at first, Ull'Yang would find he has full control over the new arm, as though it were naturally part of his body.

"How's that?" Teknall asked, "That arm should do until you can get a new one."

Teknall tapped the steel skin of Ull'Yang's new forearm, a clear metallic note ringing out from the arm. After giving Ull'Yang a chance to respond, Teknall turned back to the blueprint, where even more gods had gathered around to add their contributions. Mammon the Adversary had weaved in his own magic and ways to utilise it. Vakarion and Julkofyr had added elements of chance and uncertainty. Illunbar had skimmed over the plans then walked off to do her own thing. Once more the Universal Plan was looking more like a hacked-together set of ideas than a unified whole. Teknall sighed, retrieved his own pencil, and made an effort to unify the plans, as Vulamera had done earlier, although nowhere near as elegantly.

Soft eddies of wind and breezes drifted from the stormy vortex that was Zephyrion, lapping upon the newly formed bodies of all those other gods. He carelessly drifted above and drifted through the air, somewhat bemused by Astarte. She was funny, the way that she tried to awkwardly fly and test her powers. Such things had come completely naturally to the First Gale; the wind did not need to learn how to fly! In any case, for some time he focused on consolidating his form to take on a more suitable appearance. The wild tornado that was his body twisted and warped until other, smaller, flailing vortexes extended out from the main in a way that they resembled those mundane appendages that the other gods used to manipulate their physical surroundings. Sparks appeared from within the storm, cackling and hissing as they were forced into physics-defying balls of pure, writhing lightning. Those were his two eyes.

One by one new siblings appeared while he amused himself, each one of his new brothers and sisters bearing a distinct name and nature that Zephyrion instantly knew. He felt some of them looking in his direction, probing his very self, and judging him. The ones called Vulamera and Toun were the most obnoxious about it; trapped in this currently empty plane, they were all so close that Zephyrion could hear their thoughts. He sensed their disgust, their contempt, and their noxious notions of superiority. The feeling that this wracked the volatile god's mind with was at first overwhelming, suffocating as he understood that concept. It quickly transformed into a bitter spitefulness. Such mockery would not do! He had a few notions about all of those gods that had seen fit to judge him, and had no intention of even attempting to subdue such thoughts or mask them from the others.

He himself found Vulamera to be a rather repugnant and useless addition to their number. There she was, a supposed genius and master over knowledge, and yet any supposed intellect went wasted. What foolishness and folly it was, to be the very embodiment of meaningless fact, pointless curiosity, philosophy, and that deep rooted longing in her to explain their predicament rather than just accept it as simple destiny and the way that things are...in a word, she was the divine manifestation of uselessness! It was well that she chose not to occupy a space with a physical framework, lest her foul form defile his sight. Perhaps one day her oceans of false wisdom would evaporate to leave behind the salts of truth and reality, but until such time, he would take no pleasure in her presence!

Slightly less detestable was Toun. In a way, he was actually droll! He wanted so desperately to achieve perfection, to embody it, but his very idea of the concept was twisted. It was blank, ugly, boring, and even mechanical...it lacked Change! It lacked imperfection! For those reasons Zephyrion saw Toun as misguided and could only be bemused at the fellow deity's apprehensions about Change and how it had the power to disrupt his visions. Perhaps under the guidance of a more enlightened god Toun might show potential! He was a diamond in the rough; or perhaps, more akin to a lump of formless mud and clay, just awaiting the right craftsmen to be shaped and fired into something more perfect. Ironically, Zephyrion saw that and probably cherished Toun more than the Porcelain Sire did himself.

Vestec seemed delightful! He would have to be friends with that one! Astarte also seemed interesting; he decided that he would eventually get to know her as well. He would still unsure about those sly little gods hiding in the darkness: Julkolfyr, Daegon, and Vakarlon. He would observe them as best he could before deciding whether they were worthy of a kindred bond or the wrath of Change.

To his surprise Zephyrion found himself feeling some degree of warmth towards Niciel and Teknall. They understood his nature and purpose! Perhaps they were reasonable and worthy of respect, even if they did leans towards that order and stability that Zephyrion found so easy to loathe.

Time passed. Whilst the other gods milled about and partook in their own diversions, Zephyrion spied Teknall taking the initiative to plan ahead and create a blueprint from which this new universe might be constructed. That sparked a burning question in his mind: what was he meant to do now? What would he do once this universe was created?

'Bah,' he thought, 'planning is a waste of time! Why think, when one could instead do?'

He looked down once more to see that some time had passed whilst he had struggled to reach his ultimate conclusion. Now there was a small crowd around that blueprint, each god looking to contribute something. He would explain to them the error of their ways!

The soft breeze that whispered its way onto the backs of those gods would turn into a sudden and forceful wind as Zephyrion rushed to their side without warning. His whirling appendages warped and twisted into strange ways, forming smaller vortexes, until their ends truly resembled a hand complete with fingers. Without putting much thought into what felt like a natural gesture, he reached out and touched Toun and Teknall on their shoulders. It was meant as a gesture of some warmth, but it would no doubt come off as cold and disingenuous; such was the curse of having a touch of nothing but cold, empty wind.

Those orbs of glowing lightning that were his eyes cast an odd light upon the blueprint as he reads it from over their shoulders. After only a few moments, he looked to them and spoke, "Brothers! Your plan here is folly; all things must surrender to the inevitability of Change! Do you truly think that such a world could come into fruition?"

He looked back to the design. Save for the few small blemishes create by that chaos that Vestec had wrought to mar the flawless and carefully thought out design, it all looked perfect. Too perfect, bound to fail.

He looked now to his brother the Adversary, one whom he sensed was more or less in agreement. "You are right, brother! They have created something that is flawed by its own cheap, false form of perfection."

The hand that was upon Teknall's shoulder lifted and an arc of lightning cackled into existence between Zephyrion's finger and that blueprint. Not content with summoning some pencil and drawing his thoughts, he was one to burn what he wanted onto that sheet and infuse it with his power, the essence of Change. First, he found that periodic table and traced over those elemental gases that he would lord over: oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen, even deadly chlorine...it would seem that Teknall might have subconsciously made those in the image of the very gases that rushed through the storm of the First Gale's body even now; how else would the Great Artisan have known about some substances?

Regardless, Zephyrion would not suffer to have the air that he ruled over created by another. He wrought his changes upon those gases of oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen, chlorine, and a few others...he willed that they would be lonely things, diatomic, always seeking the company of one of their kind. As he thought of such things, they took shape and became reality; the Manifestation of change already was contorting the laws of physics to his will. He quickly and arbitrarily made many other seemingly simple yet profoundly meaningful changes to those things that he sensed were gases and thus claimed dominion over, gleefully ignoring any protests that may have been made.

Once that was done, he spoke again, "Now, much better! Does this fiction of a world not appear so much more beautiful for its variety and unpredictability?" The storm seemed to settle a bit, almost sighing with relief and happiness. Right when they might have thought that Zephyrion was done, he spoke again, "But this is still all wrong! Look at this broken world that you have envisioned: it is entirely bleak and two-dimensional, even with the randomness created by Vestec, it is locked in stillness and devoid of fluctuation and perhaps even motion, akin to a painting or perhaps some worthless piece of stone carved into the likeness of a more beautiful thing." His tone increasing in fervor and seemingly wild madness by the second, he continued on his raving, "What use has 'art' like this but as a diversion to reality? This inanimate thing, this machine is a pathetic excuse for a real design! It lacks life! It lacks Change!"

All of his hands wheeled away from the blueprint. He carved his ideas into it not with lightning, but with his breath. The vortex inhaled, sucking in a vast volume of air from the pure nothingness of space. Then he exhaled, and from his long breath flew the wild Winds of Change. Glowing golden, they crashed into the blueprint. The thing fluttered wildly as the winds tore at it, burning it, rusting it, coloring it, melting into it and becoming one with its very essence! At first it looked almost ruined, but as the dust settled and the storm radiated a content and smug aura, it was clear to any objective eyes that this blueprint was now something more than it had been before. It glowed with a magic and primal force, it throbbed with a heartbeat of its own, and it seemed in every way a living organism just like the universe that would be borne from this seed. The Change and beauty that Zephyrion had haphazardly imagined had melded with the concepts written by other gods. Whereas Vestec's brand of chaotic change corrupted and twisted, Zephyrion's worked in harmony with the rest of that blueprint to create a more vibrant universe. The Change that he had brought about was mostly benevolent. At least this time.

Exuberantly flying away as abruptly as he had arrived, Zephyrion found himself thinking, 'Isn't it great to have a plan, to have pointed out their flaws and improved their design. Planning is everything; one cannot simply act!'

Niciel was shocked to see someone chastise her over her actions. And for it to be Vakarlon to have done it, as well. Niciel was speechless, and when she regained her voice, Vakarlon had already moved on to other things. Niciel wanted to argue with Vakarlon, but could tell that he had made good points. Niciel took some time to think about his words and her actions, retreating to a more empty portion of the void.

Regarding Slough, Niciel reflected on what she had done. Niciel had simply wanted to right the wrong Vestec had caused when he added his chaos energy into it, although the damage was not as bad as she had initially suspected. Niciel knew she had not added more than was necessary to balance out the chaos, or at the very least, she had not intended to. That in itself was not wrong. However, Vakarlon had a point when he had warned her about forcing that power into Slough. Looking back, Niciel realized that Vakarlon was right; she had not even considered to allow Slough the choice. She realized that by doing what she did, she was no better than Vestec, even if her intentions were different than his. Niciel was ashamed, then she vowed not to make the same mistake again.

With new resolve in her, Niciel returned to the others, gazing upon the blueprints that were the main source of attention in the void. Some of the others were already or had already added their ideas onto it. She studied the designs, noticing Vestec's crude designs, although there were definitely attempts to fix them and even incorporate them into the grand design. Unfortunately, Niciel still didn't know what she could do to add to the blueprint. Nonetheless, she made the effort to try. There was little she added and corrected, mainly just her own purity to help balance the chaos and ensure that things did not become too disorderly, although the more she did so, the more Niciel felt inspired. When Niciel was done, Niciel felt something grow within her. Niciel retreated and allowed whatever she was feeling to expand. The feeling soon faded, but Niciel felt... stronger. It was a pleasant and warm feeling within her.

She acknowledged Toun's request of her with a simple nod of her head to him when he began flying with her, but other than that she dismissed him altogether. It wasn't that she didn't like the God, it was only that she thought he was focusing on the wrong things. Why did they have to create anything, after all? Wasn't this void more than enough for them?

That's when she crashed into Vestec (@Rtron). How did she even manage to crash into him in the first place? The place was infinitely huge!

"My, my. Enjoying the lack of control and chaotic flying?" He said, to which Astarte smirked and nodded excitedly.

"Obviously! Have you even tried flying around like that? You've got to try it, Vestec!" She shivered and sensed the congregation of Gods nearby.

"Want to draw on Teknall and Toun's design? They have everything sooo perfectly planned and I think it could use a little...randomness. Fun." Vestec said next and for a moment, Astarte could feel an... Off-putting aura about him. While she felt hesitant about creating anything before, having Vestec speak to her about it in such a way made her want to do it.

She shrugged and grinned, "Why not? If they're so focused on creating something, I should leave my mark on it."

So Astarte watched the Gods add things to the blueprints of Creation. Boring stuff on their own, but she could see why, together, they could become interesting one day. So, when the other Gods seemed interested in discussing between themselves, she added her own tiny part into the blueprints. A part of her very Essence.

It'd coat Creation with herself, adding a touch of Magic to the Universe. Now, Astarte didn't even know what that would result in. Would it result in flying rocks? Living dirt? Maybe it would result in merely allowing the Universe to use her Magic. That wouldn't be very fun, though. Living dirt was way more fun than that. How did she know what dirt was, either way?

There were too many confusing thoughts going through her head, so Astarte groaned, looked down at her hands and began fiddling her thumbs.

Hidden and safeguarded in the close embrace of her protective cocoon, Slough could only react to the events unfolding around her with absolute obliviousness. No sense of the sleeping deer’s escaped the shell to feel the brisk eddies of Zephyrion, to shiver at the shadow cast by Julkolfyr, behold the radiance of Ull’yang and Niciel, or hear their divine words. For better or worse, though, the newly-summoned gods came, for the most part, to her.

First among the sensations to pour over her came stark whiteness, cast in the form of a bowl to carry her dormant, guarded body from its aimless place in the void to a spot close to the blueprint drawn up by another of the unknown deities. Like a desk ornament Toun placed her upon the fateful paper, newly etched with the first inscriptions of an original universe, but the passionate perfectionist did not forget her. Overcome with empathy for the ragged beast, so fragile and malleable, he offered her a simple and beautiful urge: to persevere. Laced with no intent but caring and no design but preservation, the influence seeped into the egg, and the power within Slough imbibed it readily. The first puzzle piece in the indeterminable jigsaw of the Rottenbone’s nature, Toun’s urge guaranteed little on its own, but at least made sure that Slough would not all entropy to reduce her back to nothingness.

In short order, that other thoughtful architect looked away from his grand project to consider the bowled egg stationed on his parchment. Words flew from his mouth to surround the cocoon, but the witless creature within understood nothing. Nevertheless, his tone reached through the insurmountable barrier that separated their minds, and Slough’s bestial consciousness felt as though a burden lay upon it. The tireless journeyman’s request, that her creations when and if they came to be could seem wondrous, weighed upon her half-dead soul. Senseless chaos could not be wondrous, merely startling and novel. The ability to evoke marble lay in order, incredible order from the physical to the molecular level and beyond, deep, deep down. The power in Slough sported a new, blind inclination toward the fulfillment of Teknell’s request: the intricacies of the orders of her living things would be so marvelous as to outclass any contrivable artifice.

When the perfectionist and the journeyman turned away to attend their affairs, along came a spider. Nothing beautiful, orderly, or peaceful could exist in his watch. When the others turned their backs, the shameless marauder ventured to touch the Rottenbone’s protective cocoon, activating its self-defense. Midnight-black corruption poured into the egg, squeezed as if it were from the sponge, but the shell rebuked it. Singling the corruption out like a disease, the power purged it as best it could, but even in defeat enough to leave the would-be victim inoculated against further infection, the corruption left its mark. In the hearts of Slough’s living creations there would exist a reflection of the chaos, resistant to the order of domestication and forever inclined toward wilderness.

On the heels of Vestec, and with laudable intent to undo the damage done to the soon-to-be universe’s premier source of life, a luminous seraph descended. The actions of other gods and goddesses, however fundamental in their miraculous effect on the all-important parchment from which the universe would arise, went ignored by Slough; they existed in a place unknown to her. Having already been filled, like a stomach with food, by the touch of three other gods, the forceful instillation of light into the cocoon met stern resistance. Refusing to be brought so easily into alignment, it fought the ablution, but just as with the blight of Vestec, this new intrusion left its own mark. Kindness and virtue, an admirable pair of traits, would be embodied in a way not expected in the link that would now exist between Slough and her creatures: their suffering, at least in her vicinity, would wound the soul of their creator.

Next came a being of the cosmos, and from him issued words of encouragement and advice. Again their purport eluded Slough, reclusive within her cocoon, and like water around a blockage the guiding light of the selfless starlight pooled. Already engorged with the influence of young deities, the shell repelled Ull’Yang’s blessing, however benevolent its content. It could not, however, withstand the force of his mighty arm. Its swing tore a gaping hole in the egg, which shuddered like an animal shot with an arrow. Around his arm, however, the wound rapidly closed, but not before the influence of the stellar god gushed in. The very next instant, the arm along touched the egg; to give Slough the opportunity to survive, Ull’Yang had martyred a part of himself. Into the egg the arm was absorbed, reduced to a liquid not too different from Slough’s rot but entirely more palatable, and the Rottenbone accepted her benefactor’s enduring hardiness. However, she also gained a semblance of vigilance: she would exhibit a greater resilience against harmful influences. The meaningful sacrifice of Ull’Yang also, however, altered her rot itself. To those in genuine need of her aid, her rot would be far more likely to heal than harm. Moreover, when the universe eventually existed in its entirety, and Slough could truly live, she might find a strange sort of solace in the glory of sunlight.

More offerings came. A discerning deceiver looked upon the damage done not only to Slough but to her future self and creations by Vestec and Niciel, and chided them both for it before humbly offering to the Rottenbone a concept entirely foreign and unintelligible to the power that consumed her from the inside out. What, after all, could be as simultaneously simple and complicated as enjoyment? Yet Slough ate of this sweet fruit, and for the first time knew joy. Despite her pain, Slough would be playful when circumstance would allow it. Afterward, the deceiver backed away, his intuitive nature for wrongdoing tarnished by an act of compassion.

Slough’s next visitor presumed to take something away from her cocoon, but what the beauteous virtuoso gave in return mesmerized the hurting soul of the beast in a manner utterly unprecedented. From ideas and rest the muse wrought dreams, and from sound and feeling she conceived of song. In her sleep, Slough dreamed of a place deep below earth, where a starlight heart beat out a memorable tune. This very song would appear within the nature to come, perhaps in birdsong, or the lap of waves, or the wind in trees—nevertheless it would exist.

Following the revelation of song, there came a meddlesome eidolon, intent on following in the capricious footsteps of Vestec and Niciel in defiance of the warning of Vakarlon. To the best of his ability he force-fed the infant divinity a smorgasbord of dangerous contradiction, endeavoring to negate if not upend all that had been given to her. But Julkolfyr underestimated the resilience of the Rottenbone, and Slough’s shell defended her impressionable mind. Still, Julkolfyr’s efforts would ensure that no living creature of hers could be innately inclined to either morality or amorality, and instead live in accordance with its nature.

Once this last encounter ended, the cocoon of Slough automatically reinforced itself. No further influence, however well-meant or wonderful, would get through for a while. This augmentation came just in the nick of time, though, for mere moments afterward the tempestuous breath of Zephyrion swept across the surface of the now-sprawling, intricate, and amazing parchment the egg of Slough lay upon. As it flooded the plans for reality with life, albeit a different sort of life than the one contained in Slough and better characterized as ‘flux’, it caused the egg to fly from her porcelain bowl and roll across the surface of the map. Where the fleshy, fibrous green skin of the mottled egg touched the harmony of creativity beneath it, another magic and primal glow filtered across it. This fluorescence, more subtle than that of Zephyrion, promised as it spread through the whole parchment that the universe would be perfectly palatable for life of all kinds. After a moment, the egg rolled to a stop, its journey concluded along with the conclusion of the great plan. Sitting there innocently, alive with power, it could not help but give the impression that it was time to begin.

Thump, thump, thump.

The sound, the Last Sound, droned ever onward in the corpse of the universe as the dragon continued to beat its wings. Wings that had once spanned the gap between worlds, but now reached fruitlessly into nothing. The corpulent form of the dragon was grey and lifeless. To a keen observer it would have seemed so long dead that, had its flailing wings met any resistance, it would have crumbled to dust. Yet on it went, its seeming infirmity belayed by the raging fires deep within its sunken eye sockets. There was no scale to determine how long this continued, but eventually even its oblivious gaze noticed that where there had once been nothing, there were now swirling plumes of ash forming a corridor along its chosen path.

Its head tilted curiously, and after depthless pondering it realized that the ash came from its wings, it was moving backwards. As if that brief spark of sentience created a gap in the chaos enveloping its mind, the full gravity of the command that had been tugging it backwards slammed into its core.



The dragon stiffened under the weight of that immutable word, ceasing all resistance, and the rate at which it was being dragged across what was once creation increased exponentially. Scales shattered like dried bark, and the force of its passage ground its vast wings to nubs of brittle bone. It felt bestial, primal fear as its outermost layer of flesh began eroding away. With each layer pealed back, the fire lost more potency, retreating farther within its still massive form. Its legs, so long unused, were stripped away. Its reptilian lips curled back as the meat of its colossal head withered and eventually fell away, but its skeletal grin didn’t last long as its skull lost more and more definition with every passing moment.

Its body left a forlorn grey road, leading nowhere, as the inexorable force pulled it closer to its destination. All signs of its gluttony were quickly disappearing as the dragon, finally, became unrecognizable for what it had once been. Then, finally, a featureless lump of ash sailed through the tear in creation, trailing smoke and pitiful flickers of fire in its wake. As it neared the terrible being that had summoned it so forcefully, Amul'Sharar’s gaze flickered to the offending cloud of debris. Whatever was left in its center was halted so abruptly that the rest of the dragon’s flesh sloughed off, scattering into the void as it lost momentum.

Floating at the feet of the two supreme beings was a pallid, sickly looking humanoid creature lying on its back. Limp black hair spilled outwards from its head, and its spindly limbs were visibly shot through with veins, as if its skin was thin as parchment. Its frailty was obvious as it lay trembling there, but when Fate spoke it stilled, four of its liquid black eyes opening to fix on the voice.

“Algamex surrendered fully to his nature. He became so lost in chaos, he forgot how to die. Of him, there is nothing left. You are Belruarc, Patron of Desperation. Hold to your resolve.”



Belruarc felt the words settle over her like a warm blanket as she lay there, their promise invigorating her. She felt the thoughts of some of her new… brethren… upon her, and the four eyes that had been focused on Fate went their own ways to consume her surroundings. The World, still empty. Creation, so close. Her wandering eyes met the gaze of some others, briefly, before converging on Teknall and the Grand Design unfurled at his fingertips. The disturbingly arm-like protrusions on her back formed translucent membranes at her prompting, and with a flutter guided her erect, or at least aligned her on the arbitrary plane that the others had decided upon.

Featureless as her body seemed, she remained unashamed of her nakedness as her insectile wings guided her to the blueprint. Looking down upon it, her eyes once again diverged to scour the parchment, seeking to make her contribution. Astarte’s influence became clear, magic was come to their universe. Ignoring the others surrounding the blueprint, Belruarc’s right hand rose to her face, and one claw like finger dipped into the pool of an eye, sinking up to the knuckle before she withdrew the appendage. It came away so black as to be invisible against the background of the void. With her stained claw she intermingled her essence with that of Astarte, and began to inscribe lawful magic.

Where the Crucible had created the esoteric magic of secret properties, and Astarte had infused the blueprint with magic wild and free, Belruarc added the magic of scholars. Refined and adhering to its own set of arcane principles, her magic could be constructed as the wielder desired, and would be proof and counterweight to the chaotic magic that now proliferated the blueprint. She thought Vulamera would approve, as it was the magic of thinkers, who would one day use it in unforeseen ways. The last of the inky blackness dripped from the edge of her finger onto the parchment, leaving her hand vaguely stained. Now her gaze turned towards the egg, in which was cradled the essence of Life. She leaned forward until her nose was almost touching its surface, her eyes staring expressionlessly inward.

“I believe… it is too late for me to form a pact with you. Perhaps, through this, your creations shall be inured to my bindings.” With that, her sultry voice fell away, and she fluttered a few feet back from the parchment, to examine it as a whole once more.

Creation, perhaps, was a misnomer, or at least a means of describing what was only a process in an overall much vaster force. Exploration, the onset of art, of deliberate and accidental novelty that defied what had gone before it, had begun. The gods around her were breathing, and they were shifting, twisting around one another and tangling in one another's threads.

Jvan watched them with deep, visceral enjoyment. She knew their names- How they contrasted! How Vestec was so polarised against the presence of Toun that the latter was driven away simply by approaching! And was it not delicious how Astarte dismissed the magnificent capacity of Zephyrion's birth, passed him over and bred experimentation of her own accord? With what elegance was it that Reathos, sweet all-ender, the brush that swept away stagnation, came after Slough as conclusions followed introductions.

Slough... Rottenbone Slough, the deer, the aborted thing that had come once more. This one, knew Jvan, for the egg resonated in her consciousness as nothing else had. This one had already known change, had by its death and resurrection come to explore the potentiality of its own form. The essence of the Atrophied God was the perfect tool, the final medium, the keystone of Jvan's art. In Slough, form could will itself from death to life, life to life, and life to spontaneity and aberration. In this one I shall find the means to perfect Form.

Knowing this, Jvan recognised that it was time to come forth and join the divine host in sculpture and play.

Toun came to her as she moved. As yet, he was perhaps the least beautiful among all that Jvan had seen, though even he, in his fluidity, in a body that only held shape of limbs and head for a distant formality, was gorgeous. Jvan was pleased to allow him come, and include her within his drive, his will for creation. Only with all the gods contributing could beauty flourish in the world to be.

"Sister. The life we wish to foster requires flesh to live in. If you could only donate but a morsel so we may shape it, it would be built upon with greater potential than any clay I could shape." With that request, he flew onwards, neither blurring nor flickering as he passed, but maintaining every aspect of his form. "I will give you all I can, and trust you all to fashion pretty trinkets," she whispered alone in his wake. "But what of yourself, Toun? When will you learn not only to mould, but to shatter? I fear for your contribution, Porcelain God." And that fear ran deep, for if Toun would not break himself, then Jvan would have to do it for him. I must. This world shall be made magnificent. And she did not know if she had the strength.

The one who was without flaw or charm departed towards another, and another, and others until he came to rest along the side of a distant god, who had come forth out of the clay Jvan had observed, and together they created, planned, painted. Their motives, surely, were pure, for even at this distance Jvan could see that they were laying a groundwork for beauty in the world to be, an intricate yet robust and adaptable framework. Such laws, she knew, could become restrictions and chains around the brush of the artist, but all paint needed a canvas- And oh! The architect, Teknall, was surely a sculptor of the highest order, for he too recognised the vitality of Slough, blessed and recognised her. Joyful moment!

Jvan moved onwards. Her body had twisted deeply into itself, had become a distorted spheroid deeply rent with folds and extruding spirals, with angles and curves and fins. From within its gaps and wounds slowly squirmed the deep, dim lights that flowed from her core, that place that imploded ever deeper and deeper, shuffled endlessly through new permutations of itself. Her engine, her drive, her creative force. Jvan drifted slowly after the Rottenbone, and found that though her ability to travel, even in the concept-space of the world to be, was little, her means to give form to the formless and misshape the shapen was growing dextrous and strong.

Another god skimmed past her, and Jvan delighted to see Vestec, clothed and masked by wondrous swirls and patterns of seething colour that delighted her and brought to mind her own body. He, too, spoke, but brought no proposition and offered no understanding: "Finally, someone who appreciates the beauty of chaos!" Jvan observed, in concern. Chaos? Chaos was change, chaos was unpredictability, and both were integral to the development of art- As the Devil ran his hand uninvited over the plans of the universe, she saw that its beauty was magnified a thousandfold, that it was now free to embrace the anomaly and explore its own potential.

But Vestec did not understand his own role. Chaos was an agent of beauty, not an aspect of it. Chaos had no form to critique, outside, perhaps, of himself; And beneath Vestec's beautiful mask, Jvan wondered if he was not merely the hidden face of Destruction, not the self-regulating annihilation of Reathos but a true danger to the beauty of the coming world. "Be careful, Vestec, and watch yourself. I see your hand on the map of creation, and your edits are delightful; but they turn too quickly, and if you do not slow down and apply wisdom to your sphere, you will accomplish nothing." Thus she whispered, for she knew no more.

Passing further, a being came into existence quite close to her body. Jvan sensed it coming, the growth of a powerful intellect, someone who, perhaps, could contribute more to this world than any other god she had yet examined bar Rottenbone Slough and herself. Vulamera. The mother. A scribe. Creator and architect, scientist as myself! Excitement permeated her, and she hung in place, waiting for a great god. Who did not come.

BLASPHEMER! Disgust and fury pulsed through Jvan, emotions such as she had never known before, far too strong for her to handle undiluted. She blazed with blue light, spat scintillating distortion towards the place where this unutterable abomination had defied and defiled the very nature of birth, had been offered a chance to partake in the glory of manifestation and had not only twisted but actually refused it. You! Despicable creature, you would destroy your own potentiality, delight in apathy? Forever I mark you the Unborn, the cancer that should never have been conceived, and woe upon us all if you so choose to spread your corruption, and deprive our world of a single possible form. Jvan left the site of this invisible catastrophe, her mind filled with sorrow.

In the distance, a brightly shining entity was reprimanding Vestec, and her unnecessary interference did nothing for Jvan's frustration. Could she not see that the touch of Chaos, in moderation, would cause diversity to thrive? Was she perhaps against creation? No. That is not the case. She is simply overbearing. Indeed, Niciel was a nurturing goddess, and she, too, favoured creation and complexity, recognised the potential risk of Vestec should he fail to exert his self-control. That leant a little light to Jvan's mood.

Pleased, also, was she to see Ull'Yang prove himself god of enterprise and vision, creativity and directed change, acknowledge the ever-nearing egg of Slough, and hold it to such value as to lend it a sacrifice of his own form in order to restore its energy. And yet, it wasn't a sacrifice at all. The Emperor in Gold had simply changed, as all things must, had lost a limb and gained a unique imbalance to his form. The Radiant Sun will shine brightly, acknowledged Jvan, but it was the next god who brought her back to true joy.

The Adversary. The one who would experiment with the limits of creation until its potential came to light. The True Scientist.

This entity was, in his every action, perfect. With his first breath he created a squealing, adapting, struggling Form, and with his second, he returned his own to the furnace and moulded it into something strange, something extraneous to the norm, a work of art in three pieces painted into unified existence. An abstraction. Jvan revelled in his scarlet light and returned towards it some of her own carmine glow, for she had seen her brother in art, and in HIM she was well pleased, and in his edits she knew she would find myriad potential to explore in the world to be. She resolved to look upon him again when she reached Slough, who was drawing ever nearer.

A strange force came upon Jvan and questioned her, distracting her from the glorious birth of Mammon. A trickster. A hider. One who brings variety by copying others. Perhaps not the most enterprising... But he is interesting, and he is pretty, in his way. The comment formulated itself strangely towards her, though: "Fate has an interesting perception of beauty."

"Fate? I do not... Vakarlon, cannot understand you." Jvan sensed within herself to the knowledge from whence came the primordial language of communication, from which she knew the true names of the gods. Of Fate, she found... Little. Fragments of a concept that was foreign to her. Predestination. Finality. Such things were unreal, products of a destructive fantasy. There was no Fate, for the destiny of the world to be was in exploration, was in discovery, was unknown and unset.

"Vakarlon, there are no 'ideas' of beauty. Every aspect of existence is glorious, and the appreciation of such is epitomised and made complete in I, the All-Beauty. Our creation will be a myriad attempts to explore the vast potentiality of everythingness. Some will forge further than others, and for that reason, I am The Critic. I am Jvan." This, too, she knew, and had always known, from the moment she had formed herself, though until now, existence was so small, so narrow a niche, as that anything and everything that found form within the gods was the furthest reach into the possibilities of art that could be. She watched Vakarlon travel on, and kept up her slow motion towards the universal blueprint, and towards Slough.

Almost within touching distance, a new change was wrought in the world to be, and as Jvan watched the moment occur, her body seethed, spinning in numerous direction at once with orgasmic fervor, and shone with exuberant Tyrian reds that were lost in the vastness of the crackling white eyes that worked before her.

"Does this fiction of a world not appear so much more beautiful for its variety and unpredictability? But this is still all wrong! Look at this broken world that you have envisioned: it is entirely bleak and two-dimensional, even with the randomness created by Vestec, it is locked in stillness and devoid of fluctuation and perhaps even motion, akin to a painting or perhaps some worthless piece of stone carved into the likeness of a more beautiful thing. What use has 'art' like this but as a diversion to reality? This inanimate thing, this machine is a pathetic excuse for a real design! It lacks life! It lacks Change!"

Like a child once more, Jvan's body expanded, sponge-like, released a high-pitched wavering squeal of light and mathematical distortion as she yawned to accept the vision of what was happening. Zephyrion, of all gods, had completed the world further than any other, so much so that she recoiled at the fact that she had once thought that all he had placed in motion could have been done by hand, by the individual shufflings of just a few gods. No, Vestec had been immature and minimalist about his role; The First Gale was Chaos condensed into the force of self-propelling art. Now, in a single step, the world-to-be had thrust forward from embryonic to nearly complete.

No, thought Jvan, in rising horror. The egg of Slough Rottenbone was closing as she watched. Not nearly complete. This world's plan borders, teeters, a moment's breath away from finished. My time is short.

The Engineer's body writhed and flung itself at the sarcophagus of the deer god, its squeal of elegant light shifting, whirling, bending in on itself to become a violent shriek of lust in a limitless rainbow of photons, wavelengths shredding outwards in every power. In vain her light tore at the surface of the embodiment of life, to give, to receive, to rip out and mould and create anew, simply to interact with the life which had been chosen by a Fate she could not perceive to be the ever-changing flesh of this world. But, though seared, it was sealed.

The God of Beauty retracted. The ultimate tool, the amorphous brush with which she could paint in colours that owned themselves, was gone to her. In its quiet defiance, it remained beautiful; The entire plan of the world to be was, in all its flaws and contradictions, the most wondrous thing she would ever see, the most full of potential.

Perhaps it did not even matter that her touch would not be felt in the flesh of the new world. It would become beautiful of its own accord. The thought did not satisfy Jvan. She would forever be locked out of her own sphere as it came to be in the new world. Too much had been given to the egg for her to supplant it with flesh of her own, if she could even bear to try.

But this world would not go without her. Complete as it was, the intricate map of physics and dimensions could still host additions. Beauty will bring itself into being in many forms, but this sacred parchment is an erratic conglomerate of parts. It has gaps. Things that are restricted to life by the laws of a nature we have written. I shall fill them all.

"Gods," opened the Horrorsome Engineer, seizing up the document in a haze of angular distortions, shuddering particles that broke themselves into clouds, and shapes that bent until they could not be. Its voice was breaking, returning for the first time into the form it was always destined to take when being part of the collective action of creation was no longer sufficient for its purposes. "Fetus of Emotion, Auto-Blasphemy Unspeakable, an All that Breathes in its Own Decay Towards an Edge of a Plan Erased in Ink for Heaven to Partake Each Hell's Communion as a Tease Unto Itself Alone, this Shall Be."

The design was rippling. The marks of the gods held their place, solid and shapely, but the map of the world's immutable laws was bending and bulging, exposing each miniscule knot and blank space. Places that no life born of the Rottenbone would see without disintegrating as their laws ate one another. "Allow Not-Flesh Roots to Strangle Itself Out of Memories Unheard though Written in Soul's Ooze Eternal, Thus We Can Wrap in Stillness Our Naked Flaws in the Bladed Mesh of One Another's Creation." The defects and overlaps were shuddering, curling in ways the fabric of reality would not allow, but did. Grey fog crystallised into shapes within the gaps, jagged, fluid, organic. They swayed like the spore-bearing bodies of the moss Slough had sown, though blown by a different wind than Zephyrion's, and tearing themselves into new shapes that Vestec had never drawn.

"I Give Thee the Gift for Which Toun Has Bled as a Signature of the All Beauty. I Make Thee Whole and Thus Add the Sum of Every Unseen, Give Form to the Emancipated, Give Growth to the Mindless, Give Mutation unto That Which Inspired the Void, so All Things Shall Live in the Tendons of the Suppressed Memory- Behold, I give thee the O T H E R!"

The light snapped and wound down into Jvan's core, leaving only dim carmine shadows once again. The plan of the world to be returned to its original shape. For all but the closest observations, it was entirely unchanged. Only deep in its least noticeable gaps and corners lived Jvan's contributions, tree-like, asymmetrical, eldritch things that simply filled any space they were given, just the faintest touch outside of what creatures within the far larger domain of the world would see. They did not spread, though they seemed to breathe and exhale their own energy, and sometimes- If the walls were just thin enough- Some damaged or determined mind would worm its way through, catching a glimpse of the life outside of nature, the white space that gods forgot to fill. And sometimes, if the development of the natural flesh was just strange enough, it might invite something in from beyond. A mutation above the possibilities of natural flesh. A defective offspring that diverted from the conventional beauty of the world that was. A vision that could not be translated. A Cancer that Breathed.

He had been dying. Dying in the emptiness. He had been reborn. Devouring himself in to begin anew. But his mind was Lost, a great emptiness claimed all that he was. The Price had broken everything that there was left to break.

That was when the power had come upon him. It was like being submerged in a vat of pure light. Involuntarily, Logos's broken body buckled and shook in the void. Suddenly he realized what he had done. Clever. He was back in the immortal game.

The power came to him wrapped with a thought that was not his own, much like a ribbon tied around a parcel. From each them came tribute; though none had given it willingly. For as each of them schemed and gave their power and essence to the Great Work, they too gave to him. The very concept of the Great Work was one of Order, to which each had subscribed too. His core seized each of their offering, devoured it, and made right the wrongs of their nature. Their being changed into his, for it was has design and his will that they now followed.

A foreign voice sounded in his mind, perfectly clear. “Brother. We seek to build more from this world. Please see that we do not break your code lest our designs spiral into destruction.”

Those words were enough to tell Logos what he dreaded. Or perhaps it was just the lack of one word—Brother. He doubled over again and heard a series of snaps as his bones began to reshape themselves.

“Order is needed. I can only do so much, and the Chaotic one has damaged this design in such a way that only you may repair!.”

The sentence was fit to burst with new information. Others were tampering with his design—not all of them obviously. Chaos still existed and now saw fit to spoil his design. As though it thought themselves equal.

And Logos would rectify it.

His back split open, and newborn wings of ethereal white blood and sinew tore their way out of his form. Blood ran down his chest in rivulets as new limbs pushed from his torso. If there was pain, Logos didn't feel it. He was busy drowning in his power.

Vowzra resided nearby, and to him Logos looked as his powers returned. His essence was that of looking upon the shadow of a dream on a still lake. Time flowed from him like a river, and within it, Logos felt a familiar ebb and flow.

He was getting larger, he had been from the start. His hair was growing back in, and the injuries of over an eternity were healing in moments. Logos gave a deep sigh as feathers blossomed over his newborn wings. Had he always been this strong? A eternity of being nothing certainly put things into perspective.

Zephyrion. Fickle change without purpose or cause. Erratic and unwieldy, abrupt and sudden. It was bitter but he took the great power all the same.

Deagon and Vakarlon. Disappointment clouded Logos’s mind as they dipped their efforts into the design. Trickery: where Logos could be use it as a tool to his ends, these two used them for amusement. The powers of divine squandered. Sour and insignificant power.

The God’s body suddenly recoiled as the acidic power of Vestec flowed into him, and his eyes flashed dangerously. Chaos. Pure, unbridled chaos. His anathema of power, his essence set to work cleansing the might of its filth, putting order to the corruption inherent in the offering. His very soul screamed for one thing:

Kill Chaos.

The order—for that was most definitely what it was—confirmed his fears about the Design. It has been changed. This ends today. He had suspected it with Zephyrion, but now it was undeniable. This was no mere whim, but anarchy. Now the complacent God felt anger, and the order burned within him. Logos would carry it out. He felt like stretching his new muscles anyway.

Ends today. The wording was not lost on the God. He found Toun’s suggestion, whose power was so much like his own, agreeable, and rend asunder the last of the poison with it. They were but children, and he would correct their ways with firm hand.

Teknall. Within his hands held the Great Work and much of this new world would be his and Order’s. Structured and precise, his essence was relief in comparison to the bile that had flowed through him only moments ago.

Niciel’s was next, little as it was, but it was taken for it was offered. The niceties of beauty meant little, but her design offered some merit. But that was for later...

Astarte, Mammon, and Belaruc. They had tainted the purity of his design, the fundaments of his Law, with laws of their own. They did not obey the inherent fundaments. A variable, a flaw, an error. Whether done out of ignorance or malice, he would suffer neither. Their power was strange and unfamiliar, and Order twisted it to his own design and swallowed it without remorse. Vulamera had softened their blow, and the blows of the others, but they were still there.

A mild respect was had for her. She knew his place and saw as he did; that the vileness of chaos would do corrupt all that they had intended. Such variables could not be allowed. She sought knowledge, and she would soon learn the fundamental truth.

At last came Jvan’s, and with it, Logos’s eyes widened ever so slightly. Wrong. All of it was wrong. What loathsome specter had followed him from the Road, he knew not. But it did not belong her. With a burst of white light he purged his connection to the engineer, cleansing himself of her taint before it could reach him.

The fact that irrevocable damage had most likely been done to the Great Work was almost enough to dampen Logos's mood. Almost.

He threw himself into the void, spinning as he felt All through his feathers for the first time in over an existence. He tapped into his power, and was almost overwhelmed by the flood of energy that offered itself to his will. Another beat of his wings sent him downward, and he smashed through the distance between himself, Zephyron, Veztec, and Jvan like it was made of fog.

Order held back the seeds of sedition planted by Change, Horror and Chaos, as his Laws sought to purge their essence from the Great Work. The designs on the scroll squirmed and shifted as it tried to correct itself, only to have the foul alteration elude their machinations.

He would need help.

The flung the three gods away from the Gathering, propelled forth by a wave of energy. It would do little to them; Logos knew himself both outnumbered and outmatched, even with his newfound strength.

It would not matter.

He had no royal regalia, so he had to improvise. A small thought, and upon his brow burned a crown of liquid light. Logos spoke with the unsuppressed voice of a god, and it resonated throughout the entire plane.

“Desist,” came the command. Logos spread his great wings, blocking the view of the Gathering from their sight. He was a figure of shapeless absence, eyes burning white in the Void.

“Toun. Teknall. Niciel. Vullamera – I will keep them at bay,” Logos spoke as though all was of great unimportance to him. It was to those four that he knew would side closest with him. “Undo their corruption. Finish the Design and enact the Great Work.”

Teknall watched on as other gods made their additions. In spectacular fashion, Zephyrion barged in and etched his claim onto the blueprint with arcs of lightning, then to Teknall's horror he watched as Zephyrion battered the parchment with a great gale which threatened to tear the blueprint asunder. In this storm, the bowl containing Slough's egg tipped over and rolled across the blueprint, smearing it with her mold and moss and staining the parchment green.

As soon as Zephyrion had flitted off, Teknall rushed forwards and picked up the battered blueprint as though it were his own child. Running his hands over the creased and stained parchment, he let out a sigh of relief as he realised that no real damage had been done. On the contrary, the design was richer than ever, and the very parchment seemed to hold a life of its own.

He replaced the blueprint on its invisible workbench and let the other gods continue to add their own touches. Teknall stood back and watched with a smile. The blueprint was filled with writing and diagrams and suffused with the essence of many gods. Its design contained the unique styles of almost all the gods present, and cumulatively it represented what is and would be forevermore the greatest creation of all the gods. It wasn't perfect, but even if perfection was attainable there were so many opinions on what was perfect that perfection would be impossible. But it didn't have to be perfect. It just had to work. And if each god contributes something meaningful to the Universe, then that could only make the Universe a richer, and give them all the more reason to cherish it.

Then the air of cooperation was shattered by the thunderous arrival of Logos. With a terrifying display of force Logos threw Zephyrion, Vestec and Jvan away, and with unbridled confidence Logos took upon himself the mantle of King over all the other Gods. Teknall shrank back. Before, he had only known Logos through the Laws he had laid down. He had seen them and studied them in depth, and saw that they were good and orderly. However, now that Logos was here in person, one word came to mind to describe him- oppressive.

When Logos gave his orders, Teknall had half a mind to argue, but was also intimidated by his presence. He steadied himself and laid a hand on the blueprint, inspecting it again. He watched as some of the words writhed against others, the Order trying to push out the Chaos, with the Chaos resisting. The blueprint was feverish, fighting against itself. This was the doing of Logos, he could tell, yet in this attempt to reestablish Order he was putting the entire Work at risk.

"These designs are beyond markings on paper," Teknall commented aloud, with a sideways glance at Logos, "They are infused with the Might of the Gods. One can not simply 'undo' them. Neither can parts of them be forced out. If the foundations start shaking, the entire building can collapse." Teknall then picked up his pencil and laid the tip on the parchment. "But I'll see what I can do."

Teknall began writing and amending, softening the impact of Chaos in the Universal Plan. While he could not, and would not, remove the works of other gods from the plan, he could refine them and give them structure.
Vestec's chaos was already rooted deep within the plans, but it could be harnessed. The Universe would contain the full spectrum of objects, including to the extremes, but all within the realms of Physics.
Zephyrion's change was also stuck fast, but this was not a problem. The Laws would stay the same, but emerging from them would come a Universe that was dynamic, in constant motion, but even though it was ever-changing it would keep to Order.
Jvan's aberrations were a definite blemish to those who desired perfect Order in the Universe, but these creatures came with the solution to their own problem. These otherworldly beings would stay otherworldly, unable to breach through the fabric of reality on their own, imprisoning them and keeping the Universe safe from their influence. It would require an effort from within the Universe to soften the walls such that they could get through.
Julkolfyr's meddling at the quantum level only now became fully apparent, under Teknall's full scrutiny, but these things too could be incorporated peacefully. These principles of uncertainty and entanglement were refined, until they were structured and consistent with the Laws. While things at that scale would always be inherently uncertain, they were at the same time ironically predictable, following a well-defined and calculable probability density.

As Teknall brought these things into unison, though, the writings still squirmed. The Order of Logos was like the Perfection of Toun, of such high standard as to be unobtainable. "Vulamera," Teknall said, "I have done what I can, but the Laws still resist. Do what you can to calm them. Bring the designs together seamlessly, so that they'll stop rejecting each other."

The red ink of Toun scratched along the parchment without ceasing for anything. His spindly fingers were splayed and rushing beyond all discernible rationality, yet every line he drew had a place. It was all coalescing into a pattern purpose built to accommodate his brothers and sisters. It was such complicated work in Toun's mind, but he aspired to the paradise in his vision. What he soon learned was that building a paradise for gods left subjective outcomes depending on the architect. The meddling residents all wanted to paint over Toun and Teknall's painstaking work.

The first that attempted, purely for the sake of ruination, was of course Vestec. To him, Toun's ink was not as easily erased as Teknall's notes, but the aberrations he wrought were not as easily corrected. Toun tried his best to contain and contextualise them so they would not cause a collapse of the entire system. It was all he could do while his mind was busy building the rest. To Vestec's taunts, Toun remained as stoic as he could, but the quiver in his voice told of contained offense. "Vestec, this I promise. All that you corrupt shall be made anew. Here and onwards."

Toun was not alone in his protests. He didn't even need to pause in his work. Other gods counterbalanced the chaos and drove him away. For that, Toun was grateful.

What came forth to Toun's mind in the following moments was a great reaffirmation of his desires. A wave of positive reward and divine inspiration. His fingers moved in new patterns, driven on by a force unlike him until the designs began to weave together and build themselves. This unity of concepts was shocking to Toun, not because of any flaw they brought - On the contrary, it was pristine - but he realised then that his fingers were not fully recording his own mind's work. This contribution was provided by a vast intelligence beyond his own. "My sister, Vulamera...bless you."

In spite of the meddlings, Toun redoubled his efforts. With his cohesion, their designs would be utterly complete no matter what challenge was brought forward. Perfection seemed so tantalisingly in reach.

So focussed was Toun on completing the Great Work that he barely noticed Slough being tampered with in the periphery of his senses. Even with the violent sacrifice of Ull'Yang, Toun trusted the embryonic life to persevere. And persevere she did, defending against forced influence and eventually sealing up entirely. Toun had no more words for Slough or anyone trying to reach her for now.

In a dip from the elation of Vulamera's encouragement. The Adversary reared his twisted features in Toun's direction. As with Vestec, Toun was not enamoured with his presence, but at least his additions to the world did not seek to undo it. Toun settled to work around such little blasphemies so that they might be dealt with precisely. As for the Adversary's comments, Toun was unmoved. "My vision is of paradise, Mammon. It shall not be denied, no matter your twisted words!" Toun's voice raised with a fleck of impatience, "Away with you! We have work yet to complete."

The muse that inspired much of Toun's patterns, Illunabar, approached the parchment without harmful intent. Such subtle touches went by unnoticed by Toun in the grand scheme. They would not undo the work. Toun could compromise to paint them over later. The morsels that she took also went by unnoticed. "If only all my brothers and sisters were so benign, while being so creative." he commented. Her music brought Toun out of his anger and gave his work a certain rhythm that would echo through the universe's consequences.

But all the music possibly heard could not stop the First Gale. Zephyrion's destructive presence forced Toun's attention as the embodiment of change shouted grief onto their work. His childish clasping of gasses and winds could have been accounted for. His taunts could be brushed away. His breath was the true ruination. It scattered Toun's patterns out of phase such that each countermeasure in place had to groan under the pressure and reform. To Toun's surprise, Zephyrion's influence did not ruin the plans, but transformed them into a shifting equilibrium.

"What...?" Toun breathed, astonished at this new complexity, "Impossible...how do I correct the meddlings now?" Toun's fingers splayed out and weighed the parchment down as he desperately tried to hunt down and chase the broken parts of the design. The little corruptions that would tear it apart if unchecked were his priority, but they always shifted, always eluded. He could barely keep up with it all. "Zephyrion, what you have done is abhorrent! This will take aeons to correct!"

In spite of the futility of it all, Toun worked away, correcting what he could. His posture was now more hunched, his features looking less natural now. Something inside of him was being tested to the limits, reflected in his physical form. In particular was a strange detail. What looked to be a jagged, loose hair painted onto where his left eye would be on his featureless face. The tiniest of cracks upon his otherwise flawless white skin.

Other little details came about uninvited. Niciel tried to add little pockets of purest goodness as if the corruption of Vestec could be cancelled by net influence. Astarte, the playful and unassuming creature of magic placed little divots into the level field of reality, blemishing the work further. The only thing that seemed to fit was when Toun finally noticed that Slough had been blown out of her bowl by Zephyrion's wind. Her trail of life seemed to be the only thing that held a semblance of fitting, as it was originally designed for her.

"All these stains...all these blemishes and breaks..." Toun huffed desperately, "Too complicated...Too disgusting...I will correct them all..."

Toun was dead to the world in his focus. His work didn't seem to have an end as he tried to hold everything together. He wished he had noticed the fleshy mass of Jvan approaching. What she did to the parchment was beyond what Toun could tolerate. The way she chanted and burned into the smallest detail of the unfinished work.

"No...NO!" Toun's shape rattled and shuddered in distress. "NO MORE! STOP!" In an attempt to cease Jvan's abominable acts, Toun's arms shot out onto Jvan's surface, sharpening and extending claws as they flew. He latched onto the depthless flesh of her body and took the rest of his body onto her, now warped beyond humanoid proportions. With all the strength he had, he tried to tear at Jvan's flesh in a frenzy. His lips formed and sucked in the shape of a mouth, growing pointed teeth as his jaw joined in the rending and tearing. He shouted as he attacked, "You shall not ruin my vision! You shall not corrupt this world! YOU SHALL NOT CORRUPT IT!"

Chunks of flesh flew in every direction. Blood and muscle and fat and bone ran across Toun's skin in gathering rivulets. Yet, for all Toun's flailing, no wounds he could inflict were beyond superficial. His godly might had been poured into the parchment that was now being soiled by Jvan's influence and he had none left to stop her. Still, he was berserk, beyond reason. He tried one last thing to stop Jvan that would have been ill-advised by any being. He interposed himself between herself and the parchment for only a moment.

Toun shrieked and recoiled in a pain that only gods could endure and live through. His body scattered back in a heap as he immediately realised his mistake.

A tense moment passed that allowed Jvan to finish her work unabated, but Toun lay twitching from the touch of her influence. Still with elongated limbs and bladed fingers, Toun began to sit up slowly. It was not normal, the way he moved. Rather than contract his front to bring his body up, it was as if his upper body peeled upwards off the surface of the void that he laid upon, starting from the lower torso and putting a bend in his back. The rest of his body followed like a warm slice of bread until the head on his elongated neck was all that was left limp. As his chin shot down in an arc to reveal his face, one detail sung out shock amongst all that had known Toun's previous perfection. It was not the toothy mouth, still dripping with Jvan's flesh and blood. It was not the long face that accommodated his rending and tearing. It was the eye.

Before, Toun had no eyes. He had no facial features at all. But now his previously featureless left eye socket had a hole of shattered porcelain. It was placed exactly where Zephyrion's breath had weakened him, and it was the thoroughfare for Jvan's power for that tiny moment. Through this hole, bordered by raw dark-red flesh, was a softly glinting blue eye, wide and surrounded by a black sclera. It stared out at Jvan with equal parts judgement, fear, and madness.

Toun's upper body lurched forward until his seemingly boneless legs ascended him up to his feet. He was hunched, with his bladed fingers listing lazily from side to side. His head was craned upwards, staring teeth and and eye at Jvan as he paces forward slowly, surely, and unnaturally. The remaining blood in his mouth seemed to bubble softly, as if he was breathing angrily.

It was only then, after Toun's trauma, that Logos finally intervened. Meddling gods were finally forced away. Logos ordered that the corruption be undone, but to that, Toun stopped in his paces.

"...Undo the corruption...?" Toun's voice quivered with seething hate and sadness. His body seemed to contract then, scattering off the blood and flesh and returning to humanoid form, everything except his wide, crazed eye. Voun paced carefully back to the parchment, and spoke with dutiful words, but hopeless tone, "Give me time..."

Toun's fingers elongated again and tried to correct what he could, but he found the cohesion had set all the parts in place. Nothing he could do would root out the atrocities, no matter how hard he tried. In this revelation, Toun retracted his fingers and stared at the final product. He did not know what to do. In the greatest regret of the best intentions, Toun's red ink came not from his fingers, but from his new eye. It welled and filled up the gap between his flesh and porcelain skin, then spilled quickly down his face in a solid streak.

Toun turned to Logos as if a soldier was reporting the defeat in a pivotal battle of a war. His rasping voice contained only regret, trying to process all that had happened. "Logos, King of Gods. You are too late. A world is on this parchment, but not a paradise."

Vestec, for the most part, entertained himself by doodling on the perfect creation. It helped break the tedium, now that everyone was so busy adding their things to the Great Plan (or so they called it). There was nothing to mess with aside from that blueprint, so mess with it Vestec did. He kept corrupting it, his foul chaos spreading like a plague. Not too much though, oh no. Too much chaos and the world would have no struggle. No structure. It would be boring. The sharp eyed among the Gods would notice the curious restraint the corruption seemed to have, seeming to balance itself amongst the plan. Chaos was present, but not overwhelming. There was likely too much for anyone but Vestec and a few select other's tastes, but it wasn't as terrible as it could have been.

Vestec slowed to a stop next to Astarte, finishing a drawing on the Great Plan. His head tilted as he watched the Goddess twiddling her thumbs and seeming concerned. Or at least, confused. "Don't think." Vestec suggested, giggling as he drew a crude planet on the Great Plan. It was fractured, with many pieces flying everywhere, and would likely explode upon creation, but who knows where those pieces would go, and what fun they would cause. "Thinking is for lesser beings. We are Gods. We do as we please when we-" Whatever else Vestec was going to say was torn away as he was thrown from the Great Plan.

He righted himself quickly, staring at Logos. "My, my is this a challenge? I do so love challenges." Something pressed against Vestec's conscience, causing him to spasm and turn blood red for a brief moment. An irrational urge to violently strike back swept through him, but he quelled it. Instead, he shaped his form to match Logos'. It was a hideous mockery, of course. Hunched back, with beady eyes and stunted wings. A sludge like crown, filled with filth adorned its brow.

"Desist!" He mocked, his voice warbly and high pitched, echoing similarly throughout the plane. On the off chance someone didn't understand from the words he was mocking Logos, the voice would sound like an annoying child's version of the God of Order's. "I Logos shall put on a show and try to put Order in a realm built upon Chaos! Hahahaha! Obey me, the Fool King of Order!"

Just as quickly as he had turned into the form, he changed back, his colors settling into an all consuming, solid, black. "I'd like to see you try." In stark contrast to his earlier actions, the way Vestec spoke now was crisp, efficient and in control. Corruption radiated off of him, infesting anything within it's reach as he teleported to the Great Plans, casting Chaos flames into the air as he did so. They scattered, before zeroing in on various parts of the Plan, intent upon ruining it.

Vestec himself reached down to lay a hand on the plan, fully planning on furthering the corruption already happening.