---

---

She awoke.

She stretched out, feeling her form return to her after so long asleep. She let her legs and her arms stretch out, her neck cricking as it felt itself form again. Ripples burst along her skin, the marks that she had etched so long ago returning to the surface. Fingers, toes, ears... She was whole again.

She straightened herself, feet landing on a surface that only she could walk upon. Around her swirled detritus and debris from what had been around her- her arms and her tools. Holding out a hand, palm reaching to the ether, she watched as it swirled and coalesced into a ball of mixed metals. She squeezed down, her fingers bending and crushing it into a ridged pancake, and then she looked down at the word below her. Undefiled. New. With a slight childish glee she threw the metal forward, watching as it began to heat and burn. It vanished, burned up brightly, but that didn't matter to her.

Her hand extended again, palm raised up. Another ball, this one smoother, ticking and whirring in her hands formed itself. She looked at her Core with satisfaction, nodding slowly to herself. The machinery clicked a few more times in her hand as she examined it for any blemishes or changes, but it seemed the same as it had always been. Turning away, she examined the shapes around her. The gods that had yet to wake, but would no doubt be doing so soon. She was the first then. Excellent, it gave her a little time.

Her Core slipped away once more, and she placed her hand flat against nothing. Carefully, she pushed her middle finger forward, feeling it glide through a seemingly thick substance, and then burst through. Her index followed, then her ring and lastly her pinky and thumb. Clenching hard, she yanked the nothingness aside, pulling apart an entrance to a new realm. This would be her domain. Already her sheer presence had caused it to be influenced, the walls shaping themselves into her preferred positioning. Metals rising out of nothing, stockpiles preparing herself. Everything would be ready... Apart from the spark.

The forges had to be lit. The constructs had to be made. She walked through the forming halls, a distant chugging starting up, but it was... Cold. Dead. Empty. She already missed the last cycle, where the forges were roaring, the gnomes were tinkering and the noise was that comforting, blanket-like deafening. Here it was everything she had come to know, or rather, it would be everything she had come to know, but there was nothing of the familiar about it.

Even the Forge... She sighed. It was all there. The twin figures standing over the great altar-come-anvil. The onyx staircase twirling around and up, the rivulets to direct the magma wherever she pleased. The walls themselves were forming jagged and rough as they always were, but the flames were not here. There was no direct blast, no sheer intensity that defied what most considered reasonable. It was... Dull. Remarkably dull. Placing her core carefully down in the centre of the Forge, she returned back through the halls and outside, into the realm where the world hung below them, staring around at the others. She counted them carefully, but each time came up with a different number. Was there a new God? If so, had anyone Faded away?

She examined them again, as carefully as possible, and felt something grow in her stomach. Something that Gods did not often feel. Something, someone was missing, and they should not be missing. Only time, it seemed, would tell who exactly it would be, but she knew deep down that it would not be someone forgettable. Anacahe jumped to mind- but she didn't quite believe that death could die. Perhaps Novissime then. Yes, it would be her. One of the original Forebearers, and yet she felt no real issue at her Fading.

The others were awakening now though. She would have to greet them.

---

Was that... Feeling? Sensations? The welling of his consciousness to the surface? He felt a deep chuckle rising up in his chest as he emerged from his slumber, letting out a dark and rolling laugh that crested across the other figures and shapes, continuing on past the abyss of emptiness that pervaded them and into the utter nothing of the beyond.

"Ahaah..." His laugh trailed off undramatically. "It's so good to be back ladies and gentlemen." Or, well, just ladies at the moment, it seemed Perillian had awoken first, and him second. He supposed he could work with that. Dressed as he was he felt barren, and he extended his hand out so that two fingers were pressed against each other, their pads upwards in a gently sloping 'V.' Between them he watched as solid silver formed like mercury, spreading out until he was holding the bridge of the nose of a mask.

With it finished forming he pressed it tight against his face and looked around, reaching up to crick his neck a little bit with both arms. Hat? Check. The wide brim of it was clear and obvious, and he could feel the ornate feathers moving around with every twitch of his head. That would do indeed. The wide cloak he had around him was as beautiful and concealing as it always was, and he stood with a practised ease, spiderwebs of precious metals emanating like cracks in glass from wherever he stepped.

Turning slightly away from Perillian, he extended his hand. The skull formed there, glittering and opulent. Every inch a marvel of extraordinarily expensive work. The so-called forgemistress wished she could make something like this- for all her efforts the perfectness of a Core could never be replicated. His stared back at him, the skull almost returning the laugh that Anacahe had so graciously put forward, but he put it away before that could become a possibility.

Tipping his hat towards the younger goddess, he held his hand out again and waited patiently. Metals swirled out, until they formed a simple golden edge, flat and clean. Running it down, he felt as it parted something beneath its surface, and then he stepped through, into his own dominion. Only briefly though- with nobody alive, there was nobody dead, and the party would not have started yet. A quick look-see to make sure everything was fine, and then he was back through, cocking his head at the craftswoman.

"You seem concerned my dear." A smooth baritone rolled out of his mouth as he spoke. "What's wrong?"

---

I am Ut.

And Ut was awake, Ut was alive.

Ut formed a body, although nothing very distinct. A base form with tendrils snaking off from the central mass. There was little time for that, something was off, not quite right. Ut realized there were others with them here, speaking even although it took some time to focus away from the off-putting feeling.

"What's wrong?"

Wrong yes, that fits quite well. What was wrong anyway? Something Ut could feel, and follow, leading away from the conversation of the others. Focusing on the feeling, of bringing it to the fore. There was a difference in it there were two separate feelings here the lesser, an empty feeling, akin to the others already that Ut could see. The greater could wait, it was chaotic and wrong, beyond contemplating for now.

Ut formed an orb, as perfect as they could with their own means and made it fit the empty feeling, the lesser wrongness. The orb glowed around where it touched Ut’s tendrils, fading the further from that cradle of Ut’s form. Now, this fits into the other feeling, something not empty but wrong all the same to Ut. They took the orb and pushed, forcing a way towards that remaining feeling.

Ut pushed and then ripped with their tendrils, forcing an access to a new realm. A Domain filled with all that was wrong, not ready, chaotic. Ut loved it for it was magic. Leaving the world behind, Ut focused on the edges. Weaving from the most basic and the fringe, it was crude but Ut improved.

At first among the chaotic energy of magic that filled this Domain, Ut formed small rocks, then larger more detailed. Moving inward Ut gained more realization of what could be done, rocks became islands. There was less fragmentation, an order was formed but only those islands among the current, anchor points for the flow.

Ut focused more, they expanded upon their form, at first crude and basic weavings of one not yet knowing with reason but with energy and purpose into something more. Ut still shared the general shape as before although now the body sat atop the tendrils, manipulators plenty, filled in with vibrant details and a growing pinkish hue. The back had hardened like the anchoring points of rock within the Domain, jutting out beyond the flowing form that was Ut.

There was more to be done, for Ut had an idea beyond anchoring and controlling the chaos of magic into something less offensive to them. Ut twirled to the center, forming some islands as necessary but leaving clear a space for their project. They worked, hewing an island, magic in the guise of rock and tunneling through it one way, then another again. Ut sealed, opened and resealed forming a network, a system of movement through the rock. They made chambers with entrances false and real switched again until it was complete.

Ut rested in the final chamber, although simple it was vibrant with details of the realm created, and a spot for this core, this orb, to rest. A great citadel, as such could exist in this realm. Ut had hardened and confused strengthened as a defensive structure a crux of the Magical Realm. Where the islands were anchors, this was the point that could hold it all together and bring stability to once chaotic flows of magic.

Ut left behind their Citadel and began making their way back to the world and out of their Domain.

After all, Ut was not alone.

It began with a sound. A tear, a crack, a bang, what did it matter? He heard something for the first time in centuries; his time of rest was over and his time of action had begun.

Zetsibo shifted and twisted from form to form in the darkness above as he tried to settle on body for this cycle, after all he needed a form that would incite despair in all the little things his peers would creat. After a time his form settled into a humanoid figure of shadowy substance and bone, his head would be comparable to that of a wolf skull if not for the great horns protruding from just above his new form's empty black eyes. The being's torso seemed to be fortified by bone and his arms ended in elongated black claws. From the torso down the shadows elongated and twisted to form a pair of legs. Zetsibo examined his new form with some mild interest; the skull would do most definitely, however it still felt a little...bland. With a snap of his claws rows of white feathers formed along the deities shoulders and bag,gradually quickly being replaced with black as more formed down until the cloak reached the bottom of his legs. Satisfied, he discarded the cloak for now; he had much work to do before he could settle into such fanciful clothes.

Zetsibo turned to his next obligation before he could do much else; his core. Holding out his hands the Icon of Despair opened his skeletal mouth and 'exhaled' a stream of shadowy vapor into the palm of his hands, as it formed into something of a spherical shape it solidified and began to flicker and darken as streaks of almost painfully bright white light moved along the surface of Zetsibo's core. Truly an orb worthy of himself. Now complete, the core vanished and without another thought about it, Zetsibo turned to other matters

Having sufficiently prepared himself for the cycle ahead Zetsibo now needed to prepare his domain. A simple swap of his hand through the empty space around him opened the way to his realm, stepping through Zetsibo examined the barren plains around him. The sky seemed to have darkened since the Roil, that would not do at all. As the thought entered his mind the stark white sky of the Despairing Planes grew far light,piercingly light. Now he had adjusted the sky the Icon of Despair examined the rest of his realm, simply walking for some time and examining the mounds of blackened rubble that may have once been villages; perhaps a few had been fortresses of some long since dead servant. It mattered little to him; the great game would continue and he would create and consume servants as needed, all to create the despair he so craved.

As Zetsibo raised his finger to once again leave his little slice of existence, a name popped into his mind. Ab'thar. After pausing for a moment to consider whether it was yet worth bringing his avatar into existence,he Icon of Despair shrugged and waved his shadowy arm with a flourish. Immediately after the movement a small clump of dark vapor left the deities body and rapidly began to grow and shift into somewhat of a hound-like form from the abdomen up before a white wolfish skull formed atop the being. The avatar of Zetsibo looked up at it's master before letting out a 'howl'. It was a terrible noise, like the failing scream of a man with a popped lung. After the Houndlord was done Zetsibo simply said "Wait." before tearing open a portal and stepping back into the barren canvas that was the mortal realm.

Reappearing in the mortal realm with the burning white sky of his domain at his back, the god of despair sought out those who had also awakened and was pleased to quickly find both Anacahe and Perillian already awake. He would have gave a smile if he could however given his form he simply settled for a simple greeting "Ah there you are, I thought I was the first to have awoken for a moment. You both slept well I trust?" his voice seemed to echo outward from inside his skull, however given Zetsibo often favored rather skeletal forms this would likely not be met with much surprise from anyone present.

"Feh, to think that this pack of brats would awaken before me." A voice said from one of the blurs, as a small knot of roots and flesh began to form in it's center. "I must be getting weaker in my old age."

As he spoke, Ualla's body continued to form, wood and bone sprouting and fusing until he had regained the base body he had used every cycle. Of course, it was missing his modifications, and he currently only had the two arms and two legs many would consider 'normal'. He would have to work on that soon.

Before he could get to work on his own goals however, he turned to the other deities who had formed, and his eyes widened as he realised that something was wrong. Unlike the others though, Ualla knew immediately just what that something was. After all, he was life in all it's aspects. He could sense the presence of life wherever it may be, and for those gods and goddesses he had known throughout the cycles, he could even recognize the energy from their lives quite well. And there was one life that was quite clearly missing.

As he came to the realisation of just what had taken place, and how it would no doubt affect the coming cycle, Ualla's eyes drooped slightly in sadness. Putting aside his own pain over the matter, he had no doubt that many deaths would spawn from this. Looking over the gods that surrounded him, he decided that it would be better to get it the reveal over with now.

"Well, glad as I am to wake up surrounded by fools and children, Anacahe included, I'm afraid I have some bad news. I can't feel Brother's presence amongst those who've yet to awaken, and while it hurts to say it, it looks like he's faded during the roil. Now I know how this might make this cycle a little more difficult, but I'm beggin' ya, don't do anythin' rash. The last thing we need is to be bogged down by unnecessary bloodshed."

He looked to the new god, and even as he did so, a few additional limbs started to sprout from his body, each of them already beginning their work on the construction of a few basic lifeforms to seed the planet with.

"Now, seeing as you're new, I think I know what's going on. You magic, time, or both?"

Nyrae

---

The thud of my heart? Nyrae thought. Faint, rhythmic beats, slowly regaining strength, thudding louder. That’s all she could hear, all she could focus on. Still, she felt so weak, as if she had risen from the dead, she supposed a roil was very much that.

Nyrae awoke at the window sill of her chamber in Elanarea, it was here she had spent the final moments of the previous world, had she not? A roil always made her memories hazy, she struggled to separate what had happened in what world…

Her cheeks were wet with tears, and she brushed at them gently, not wanting to know why she had been crying. Pain was certain with a heart like hers, one that would love till it disintegrated like a meteor in the cosmos. And how could she help it? Nyrae thought, the mortals were her children, and yet they were destined to be torn away from her and those they loved.

It was all too much sometimes, yet she reappeared and reappeared, and for what? But then she would remember, as she looked out at her vast world, her Elanarea, the glittering expanse of the ocean, the interlocked hands of lovers young and old, the miracle of life, love and beauty. It was this she had worked for, she remembered, cried for, fought for, in her own realm and in the mortal realm — but how hard of a task it was with the mortals! Nyrae had learnt this over the eons, painfully, that where love exists hatred does too. An inseparable pairing, the only pairing she would dare destroy.

Another thud and Nyrae realised she had been clutching her core against her chest, the blood-soaked orb pulsing thick ribbons of her blood as it coiled around her grasp. Slowly, gently, she inhaled, feeling the sphere vanish into her chest and seal itself inside. THUD. It felt as though her blood had been ignited like a trail of oil, the burning sensation tearing through Nyrae’s body, leaving her gasping, yearning… She suddenly became terribly aware of her own naked body, the sensation of the slight breeze through the open window feeling like a million kisses along her perfect form. Her heart beat like it had dissolved into a flurry of butterflies and she began to rise and rise, up onto the window sill, like a bird about to take flight, surging, surging, all the hearts in realms mortal and immortal adding to the bonfire of her insatiable soul, she could not think, could not resist, she took a step —

And fell into the heavy trappings of a fabric glowing with a sacred power. The elaborate material, as if possessing a will of its own, fastened and tightened and cinched upon Nyrae’s body. And finally, her mask fell into place, and she could breathe, could be controlled.
Reason began to return to Nyrae’s mind as she smoothed down her dress, but her heart continued to beat as strong as ever. In the name of love, she thought, I will not fail this world.



In a storm of blood red butterflies Nyrae materialised at the site of the other gods. For a reason she couldn’t quite explain, the goddess of love felt a deep gratitude in seeing the others again (even that grumpy tree man who had droned on about having a familial relation to her, of which she would never confirm or care to). Though it appeared Sandrimor hadn’t yet arrived? And who was that skeletal thing lurking among them, she wondered, something about him made her grimace slightly behind her mask. Oh what luck, she thought, arriving just in time to hear another one of Ualla’s ramblings, except this time it sounded like something vaguely important — Sandrimor had faded.

The thought made her shudder, not because Sandrimor was particularly spectacular (though she had adored his eyes), but because this meant war among the immortals. She would have to take a side, already she could see the rifts that would split open among them, and the devastating effects upon the mortal realm.

No one could witness the deep concern upon Nyrae’s face, thankfully so, but she could not bring herself to speak, so she remained silent there, gloved hands neatly clasped in her lap.

The dream of mourning ending, and Legio awoke once more, bare of all metal and cloth, for now. Yet again, he'd failed during the previous cycle; yet again, humanity was rent asunder and scattered to nothingness by the Roil, their glory dashed and cut short upon the rocks of existence. But he could not fret over the matter. Every second wasted was a second less for the human race to try and secure their existence once more.

And to start, they had to exist. Indeed, through him did they exist; each cycle he survived was another cycle for humanity to try, and try again, for persistence, nay resilience was their boon, resilience enough to let them progress, and to seek new paths toward true immortality. A mere moment was spent to acknowledge his own golden, glowing core once again, the eagle-headed Globus Aquila returned to him, before the orb sank into his heart - only for the point of impact to burst forth with more of that glowing golden substance, encasing the master of mankind and spilling forth into reality about him, shortly before reality itself folded about him as if he'd never been there to begin with.

And within the pocket of existence that encompassed Legio's domain, the Divine City of Emanule rose once more. Each paving stone, each individual brick in every building that came forth from Legio's soul, shone with the same power as his core, the God-Emperor's will made manifest within the city. And with each of the thousands of buildings that came about, so too did a pair of intelligent apes - coated in hair but sparsely across most of their bodies, with features distinguishing male from female. The first humans of this cycle were birthed, and all within the realm knew inherently of Legio's divine providence, for he had made them aware of this and all else they needed to make their first steps toward immortality once again.

The only shame was that these progenitor individuals would perish eventually. Such was the curse of human biology, that their cells aged and died like all other mortal beings eventually did. At least their souls would be kept safe within Anacahe's realm... for a time. A very long time, and yet an imperceptibly short time, too.

At last, as his palace and the final building in his realm was completed, Legio emerged from his domain into the presence of his fellow deities, now clad in immense, shining golden armour from the neck down. The pinnacle of the human form, ready to present himself to the world, and further the might of the human race once again.

...hrm. Something was different. Missing, perhaps. Who had presented themselves so far, then? Perillian, the Forgemistress, always a pleasure to see, and he'd need to address her regarding the reforging of his Colossus at some point; Anacahe, the Don of Death, who he hoped he wouldn't lose too many to this cycle; Zetsibo, that skeletal bastard, who Legio wished with all his might would just fade spontaneously, even though he never did, and wouldn't now until this cycle's end; Ualla, one of the eldest deities alongside Sandrimor, the progenitor of mortal life without whom Legio himself may never have come to be; and Nyrae, the goddess of love, clad as ever in her fabrics to cloak a beauty that anyone could admit to, whether or not they could appreciate it.

And... a newcomer. A mass of flesh, with tendrils snaking away from its frame like so many crude arms. What, pray tell, did this newcomer offer to this new reality? He wasn't sure, though he arrived back into the fold in time to witness Ualla forging himself a new set of arms, more limbs to craft life with. Ualla never did appreciate it when Legio simply formed humans immediately, but he also didn't seem to understand how crucial it was that they be given the greatest possible chance to make themselves eternal as the gods were. For now, Ualla merely addressed the new deity: "Now, seeing as you're new, I think I know what's going on. You magic, time, or both?"

Magic? Time? But those were Sandrimor's domains... unless... no, surely not.

'Sandrimor has faded, then?' Legio asked, not quite sure how to feel. The lord of magic and time had been a steadfast aspect of reality, of the divine hierarchy, since the very first cycle, as long as Ualla had existed too. Yet Ualla persisted still, whilst Sandrimor was... gone. And frankly, he had been the de facto leader for so long for good reason - everybody had had stock in his continuing leadership. Legio himself offered his core to Sandrimor each time, in part because he was a stable ruler, and in part because his leadership meant humanity was not prey to an entity like Zetsibo on the throne. And now who would prevent that?

'...it is a shame for such a long-standing figure to pass,' Legio eventually uttered, clasping his hands together in subtle mourning. 'Whoever takes his place has a long legacy to live up to.' There were only so many gods Legio could see being well-suited for the throne, only so many who might offer humanity the same chance or better than Sandrimor himself had - and far too many who would tear humanity down and make their ascension impossible this cycle. This, suffice to say, was not an issue Legio could afford to be wishy-washy about.

---

“Awake”, a term referring to the state where no sleep is presented. Such a useful term to describe her state of mind. For according to such term, Amp has been “awake” for a while now.

Maybe it was during Perillian’s awakening that Amp has regained her consciousness, Amp thought as she felt bones cracking after centuries long. The joints, which have been gathering dust, move for its first time since the rebirth of the world. Sand and dirt rolled down from the clarinet, whose length seems to be longer than the longest mountain range. Bones twitched and fog moved as the giant skeletal stirred, slowly pulling its feet from the ground beneath. From her chest, streams of sulfurous smog ushers, filling the area with its musty smell. The area was littered with glass statues, sculpted after various beings, both monstrous and humanoids. But they didn't last long before shattered and reduced to nothing more but fine dust, floating in the first dawn’s light. Some of them were heroes, who seek to maintain an endless day by challenging her. Some were her followers, gullible, sweet, and adorable in their own ways. And some were just things that she had special bonds with. Lovers. Friends. Enemies. What are their names? What are their stories? For what reasons do they seek shelter from the Nihilist? It doesn’t matter now. They are all dust. Their stories have gone. Their information, gone. And the statue, the only things that reminded them, gone to the shockwave from her feet, sending to somewhere on this world. But it doesn’t matter, she could hardly remember a single one of them.

One after another, the explosion of concepts and meanings came to life. One after another, a new beginning is about to start. One after another, the clock of twelve is about to move its second hand. But with every beginning, there needs to be an end to all things. Take the example of a raindrop. From the moment it decided to leave the cloud, it has already determined its death by its birth. And the moment it becomes one with the muddy puddle beneath, it has died. And at that moment, in that steady of regression from order to chaos, from pure to corrupt, from complex to simple, Amp called her moment. And the universe is no less than the raindrop that falls from the sky during a downpour. It started with explosions like this, sometimes with more or less force, and ended with her clarinet’s sound.

How tragic? To be a musician for her own death? Nah, Amp’s doesn’t mind. She barely even remembers how she died nor what notes and song she decided to play for the funerals. To her, the cycle is nothing more than a day. When she awoke, she plays. And when she tired, she returned to her sleep. The concept of death doesn’t hold any weight to this skeletal giant, who is casually walking toward the gods gathering. After all, she was in no rush. Behind her, pools of smog filled her footsteps before gradually connecting to each other, combining to be something greater than themselves. Soon, this mountain range’s name will be treated as the sacred land for the mad and the broken, to be forever guarded but never welcomed. Maybe the Nihilist would invite them to stay like what she used to in the previous cycle, but that is another concern for the future Amp to make.


Some bones to act as the basic foundation. Fewer developed muscles compared to its opposite gender. Skin to attract both genders of the same species. Eyes to see the world. Mouth to savoring foods. Ears to hear the melodies of happiness, both mortal and her… With her minor appearances slowly come to finish, Amp’s destination is near.

With the images of other gods begin to arise from the horizon lines, a small sense of familiarity and alienation begins to arise in her, only to be swipe clean with her nonchalant nature. Legio and his shiny armor always held a grudge against Amp due to her playstyle. Ualla and his constant ranting. Perillian, cool woman. Make toys, doesn’t talk that much about how she played. Thumbs up in Amp's book. But among familiar faces, there is also the absence of some important figures, mainly Orgalong and Sandrimor. She felt a little bit sad, a little bit lost. And that is it. The olds need to move for the new to come.

Twirling the brass clarinet in hands, Amp nods softly to her kinds before giving a slight bow to the empty throne, showing her utmost respect for the next in line. The Prince of Chaos had carefully instructed her to observe from the distant, only meddling in this mess if the situation calls for. As such, she would refrain herself from mixing her in this conflict. Besides, what does that throne have that she doesn’t own yet?

“Nah, that throne is just a symbol. It held no true significant but a glorified title,” Amp said, brushing off Legio’s remark on the importance of the King before approaching Nyrae to ask for the latest attires for her minor appearances. After all, this one still needs some clothes. That or the minor appearance would need to grow a layer of fur and fat.

---

---

A new deity, even as the old awoke. Anacahe was the next to wake, and whilst there was little lost between the pair, it was always pleasant to see one of the originals still around. Then there was a rush of them. Nyrea, Amp, Legio, the whole lot Perillian took a deep breath, perhaps her thoughts had been unfou- No. No, no no. She held a hand up to her head, pushing away the hair that was there and causing her to stumble back a little, recoiling in shock. Sandrimor?! Of all the people she could have thought to have faded, that was… Not at all correct. How had he, one of the most powerful of them, been taken? She looked to the rest as they awoke, and then ‘sat down,’ taking a moment to process this.

“How did… You form so fast then?” The forgemistress turned to the new deity, the strange… Blob of tendrils and tentacles that was apparently one of them now. Things had changed a lot between the first three cycles and the latter ones it seemed, since most of the first ones had looked like the primordial elves… Or humans, like her and Legio. She shook her head out a little, letting her hair tumble around her, and then she cleared her throat.

“I think we should head to the throne room. If nothing else it seems… Symbolic to go there to usher in this leaderless age.” She looked around, looking for anyone who would disagree, and then held her hands out, pushing hard. Out of the nothingness two large bronze doors appeared, slammed open by her action. The inside formed itself quickly, and she stepped through, looking at the hall.

This room… She remembered at the end of the last cycle when all the gods had been here, along with some of the best of their mortals, celebrating the end of days. With Sandrimor on the throne, the room lively and decorated. Not this… Bleak, coldness it held now. Tiered flooring lead to a series of seats along either side of the hall, and her greatest creation sat in the middle. The Throne of Kings.

It had taken her an astonishingly long time. Every inch of it had been refined into perfection- tuned to a single atom in order to make it as pleasing as it could be. It wove together colours and symbols that normally would never fit- golds and silvers, reds and blues and whites and greens and every other colour, each one swirling and mixing across the surface like clouds on a windless day. At its back, just above where the monarch’s head would rest was the series of indents that would fit the various Cores that the gods held with them.

“So… What do we do now?” She turned around and looked at the rest of the gods, sitting down on one of the chairs. There was plenty to do… But they had plenty of time so it wasn’t like there was any need for urgency.

"Now..." Ualla said, a defeated tone to his voice as he answered Perillian. "We get to work, as we always have. I... I don't like it, but the fact of the matter is that Mor is gone. We can't do anything about that, but we also can't let it stop us from doing our jobs. We're the gods, and if we can't have him with us, you can be damn sure we're gonna build a world to remember him."

He sighed and began to weave together strands of DNA with his new hands, looking over the assembled gods and goddesses.

"Now, listen. Give me three hours. I'll speed the life cycle in the Spiritwilds up, so you can all have your little races to run around ripping the world up before the day is out." He sighed in frustration, speaking quickly to cut off anyone who might decide to pipe up over his uncharacteristic behavior. "Yes, it's a change in tradition, and ya better believe I'm not happy with it, but... I don't think I could stand to live in a world this empty for very long... Not now..."

As he spoke, he pulled a seed from his chest and flung it into the void, which sprouted into a door. He began to walk towards the door, before stopping and looking back to his fellow deities, the weight of his age showing even on his dark, relatively featureless face.

"An' I know I just said this, but please, don't let this turn into a war for the throne. We are a family, and I'll be damned if I see us tear ourselves apart just over that bloody chair!"

And then he pushed the door open, revealing a massive forest which could still be seen growing, and stepped into the truest wilds to exist.

"Now... Let's get started." He said, as the substance that could only be called 'primordial ooze' began to pour out of his hands.

Zetsibo stood in silence as each of his fellow deities spoke, each of them registering the loss of Sandrimor on after the other like a set of dominoes. The amount of sorrow,grief and despair was almost too much for him as he let out a slight shudder of what could arguably be called pleasure at the overwhelming atmosphere present in the room. Despite the wonderful rush this situation provided him, it was a problem even for him. Zetsibo was even a little sad, with Sandrimor gone who knew how many of the others would attempt to end him before he could even begin to sow despair in the hearts of mortals.

"If Sandrimor is truly gone,I myself fear the chance one of us will decide they are the only one suited to the throne." Zetsibo said as he walked into the throne room, examining the room more closely now that Perillian had lit the place up somewhat. Frankly he preferred it without the lights. As the Icon of Despair reached the end of the room he examined the throne more closely, how would he look on it? Such a thought did not last long however as he banished the possibility from his mind, his ascending to the throne would require the death of many of his brethren. It was not worth it for, as Amp has put it 'a glorified title'.

"Oh yes,I wouldn't worry about me desiring the throne. I'm well aware my ascendance would require the death of many. And that just wouldn't be fun for anyone now would it." Zetsibo said,attempting to reassure those still present of his intent before turning away from the throne and walking back towards the entrance and more specifically Legio.

"My apologies dear Legio but I'm afraid you shall not have reason to end me this cycle." he said with a rather dry chuckle. He continued after a a split second pause "Regardless, perhaps we should set out some..rules for this cycle,hm? You wouldn't want me to start destroying your creations unrestrained and I would rather you didn't do the same to my own. Not directly at least." the despair deity added as he cut a portal into his domain before stepping through the glowing white gateway and gesturing for Legio to follow if he so wished. As Zetsibo stepped through he waved his shadowy claws and a pair of stone seats rose up from the dusty dark sand, followed by a simple table of the same colour. Whether Legio followed through or not Zetsibo sat in the chair directly opposite the portal and stared into the portal expectantly.

---

It was only after Perillian mentioned about the newer god that Amp noticed about the flying blob of flesh and tendrils in the room. Sinister spikes carry an ominous sense around its tips, while tendrils flopped and coiled in multiple directions. Unknown liquid gushed out from its maw as it held some kind of clarinet close to its body.

How peculiar, Amp thought as her interest was piqued by the instrument the monstrous owner. For as long as she has existed, Amp have never seen any gods that are born with an instrument like her. This kindled a small flame of familiarity in her imaginary heart as she began to assume the unknown god to be a servant of someone else. Gossiping about their masters, drinking tea under the Scarlet Moon, or just having fun torturing people,... Oh, Amp can't wait until the next party. Talking about parties, how long has it been since the last time she held a party of her own in her domain? For she can’t really tell…

Having lost in her own thought, Amp’s body freeze in mid-motion, her minor appearances dangled between the joints like a ragged doll. The smog that is streaming forth from her core painted the surrounding air with the color similar to the mustard gas, a color of forgotten horror and pain from the previous cycles. They swim in the palace of the god, lurking and occupying every nook and crack with their obnoxious smell of rotten eggs and spoiled meat before embedded themselves within the walls. The blank nature of the walls is gradually replacing by the lemon color of the mist, diminishing the holiness vibe the Palace gives, while giving in abundance a sense of abandonment and ruination of some forgotten pantheons in past cycles.

Thankfully, it seems Amp was able to snap out in time. Her smog is still containable, not causing too much problem for Perillian to scold at her for her lack of concentration. Comfortably situated herself on the leather swivel chair, her throne, Amp lets out a half joked remark toward Legio.

“Oh, yes. Tell me, what atrocities would you committed to your pets to ratify your own belief now? Please don’t go about crusading again. We done it last time already, and I am quite bored with that scenario." Amp said with her nonchalant voice, almost dazed in her thoughts as her finger circling at Ualla’s portal, feeling the lively vibe his domain is giving out. On the other side, the leaves rustle, dance to faint breeze of what could be assumed as early spring.

Three hours, Legio mused as he sat in his place. Even when he was rushing his work, Ualla could be terrifyingly slow to act. Inevitably, if this weren't such a crucial situation, he'd have insisted that all life should take millions of years to develop "naturally", as if that held some benefit over creating what had already existed. Legio respected the lifegiver greatly, for he was ultimately the origin of humanity, and so of Legio indirectly, but he sadly felt they had all the time in the world to act. That to truly appreciate something, it had to take aeons to occur. If Legio took as long as Ualla did to ferry the human race's ascendance to immortality, they would not have been half as advanced as they were by the start of the previous Roil.

Though his sentiment about who would lead in Sandrimor's place not turning into a war... well, that was admittedly a sensible enough suggestion. The throne room's lack of accoutrement was somehow deeper than the mere lack of physical decoration with the former King's passing; Legio could see a vision of Sandrimor coming in and taking his seat again as if everything were as it usually were, if he focused on the mental image, but he simply couldn't imagine this newborn mass of meat taking his place, couldn't imagine anyone else taking that seat and having things be better for humanity, save himself. He felt alone, at times, for it seemed only he truly saw a spark of possibility in them, in any mortal race at all.

And yet... if he gave up, they would be lost, as surely as the Roil's resurgence. He had to stay determined. Only then would the human race surpass its limitations.

In the meantime, he approached. Zetsibo. His eternal bane, and one of the core reasons humanity struggled so much in Legio's mind. At the very least, he had confirmed he wouldn't be seizing the throne, despite presumably knowing how it'd inflict despair upon so many if he did; whilst Legio would have to think very hard before denying himself such an option, he also knew Zetsibo could simply be lying to try and cause greater depression later on. And in truth, a pact might help limit Zetsibo's efforts to delay humanity's ascension... though it'd also keep Legio from interfering with his efforts to further the despair of many other races. But alas, if it meant humanity would become immortal this cycle - and in such a crucial era of change, it surely had to happen soon - then he would do his best to make it up to them. Humanity came first, though.

Before he could respond, along came Amp's enraging remark. A secondary annoyance to the progress-crushing ambitions of Zetsibo, for ultimately her domains limited her far more so than Zetsibo's, but infuriating in her own unique way; he'd smelt her lack of concentration already, heard and prompty ignored her commentary on the King's "glorified title", but to hear her claim he called atrocities upon those he sought to immortalise? And the "crusade" he'd called had been upon a race threatening to wipe humanity out entirely! And he knew she was no fool, at that. She was well-aware that her comments were as insulting to him as she was to humanity as a whole; she was just seeking a reaction from him; he would not fall for it.

...then he struck upon a bright idea. Both a retort and a restraint. Oh, but that'd be perfect.

'Well, Amp, if it is a crusade you wish to avoid, then I imagine you'll want to join this meeting,' Legio proposed, gesturing for her to follow him into Zetsibo's realm of despair and, temporarily, discussion. 'After all, I wouldn't wish to rile you enough that you seek to rend the mortals I govern asunder, and I'm sure you'd prefer to avoid that I do any such thing to your worshippers too.' An excellent trap: she'd be bound by the same terms and Legio and Zetsibo if she joined them and agreed to that pact, whereas if she denied this meeting now, and then sought to destroy his humans, he essentially had free reign to seek her destruction later. She had been offered peace now, in view of all other deities that had awakened as of yet, and so would implicitly seek destruction if she went on to harm his people, with or without agreeing to the terms laid out there. Legio surely couldn't lose in this exchange.