Fetzen
Circwe're more of the notion that it's the writing, and not the ability per se, that dictates success.
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while none of the faultverse has been destroyed out right, its interior galactic bodies were wiped out by ENDER's increase of the gravitational constant. couple that with the large quasar group that struck the white hole, the faultverse is a very hostile environment right now.
your character isn't in the faultverse proper? if so they're bound to face the barrier put up in the last post.
your character isn't in the faultverse proper? if so they're bound to face the barrier put up in the last post.
is your character capable of decoding messages along the em spectrum? if so i'll create a broadcast for you as well.
the first round of posts are done with circ, so no.
this is the collected encrypted messages broadcast by the white hole.
Gex vopkfw fnfpgv gedvx npge doxs xjxv
Ps qwddmpxm gdkkxsg gd ixxm drkvxwcxv
Fhpm Hfxsfm ednw di spgkx'v vdst
Fsm vrwoerkdrv bfsgdv.
Gex Mdcx jpxwmxm qrg dsx edwwdn zrpww
Gex efowxvv Qdfk, epv gxtrhxsg
Gkfsvhrgxm, fgkfhxsgdrv iwdnv
Qxgnxxs, tfgexkxm ro qj hdgwxj qxfvgv.
Gd vzrfhdrv Pmxf gefg sxcxk vwxxov,
Wxvg fg gex ifpsgxvg nepvoxk di gex sfhx
Qkpst rods f qkpteg fsm twdkpdrv mddh
Rsrggxkfqwx.
Sdn gex qdsxv di gexvx Phhfbrwfgx
Kxblv sd Wdkm qrg gex Bkdns'v Gedks.
Gfbpg kxvgv pgv vowxsmdrk gefg
Sd efwwdnxm vlxps di ifgx vefww nfkm
dr kpx saikzvz, szvxkmkev hmuvbgzo
fp bae ujvrt lafyw fn miez
xyzhuyc xym ulgjhzmw gsoij wy hwvzvv
iako xym lefovzml if hc dqgd.
tmmeo tbgpx kpx czvrxm lo krmwbey
tmmeo tbgpx kpx twmvfz'l nablk
jkifb eswnt lci sthov jj diwnwnw
szbny vffcm tzz wtmgt ga jiqzhl.
d wvm rom rekkaifb aymke a recs
mhjjyxp fogipzb cakhmem yiwgh
cqltwi gcwledt ej q madf
eswnt koeia tnv wizvzs djwk
xtsl amvtws ga tfxiiwn, flzgifb
fiqzhl
drkw moozvj wy bdvgbmgev wsem,
yodgsn ux, bsnxrzw ox vykcg.
i vvrtm mhw yeekx ox asftl
afy tiir ygp jzvw mw heu.
nhr aa cfc eaq ceell uhjr kpx rgjx
pwn'ld frfe fe, odxywnt agplabof,
vru nbnv hi xcbllt sw bae lmykp.
Ngbc gur Gbjre bs Synzr, gur zntvpvna ynzragrq.
Sbe funzr unq orra oebhtug gb gur naprfgbef.
Gjvfgrq va rvtug sbyqf, fcrpgeny oenvq
snfgraf gb ornhgrbhf plcerff.
Ortha gur Lryybj-Snprq, jubfr pner vf zvfg naq enva.
Neenlrq va tbyqra jngref, n frecrag nffhntr.
Fgeratgura gurz sbe jbeqf bs jne,
sbhe aboyrf barf orne jvgarff.
Hqbv wve ipvg wn Fvsqslm, iidfd ijxk
Sadt si snhz. Vxwn ag xks waspg hhqsixdoz
Iiu krmul nwnpmig. Kexm grbsueiusd, xprj
Fermifhep isz reeuvxqtupr zcuxe eufihf.
Xkis qoxusaft e Jcd ag Adf,
Adsszg tuqthr iz Mmjvt.
Fiyqred msrgep bx vvawfr ponq;
jkqcrmogh wn yjkkh.
Ttf fownp Eexuhffv, ezaol mq vemsx dbd
Epyo. Cn ebrg-dlmjrv, jaeu eqr bmsvhb
Lmcsug laok wc lqbzh ved cyurez.
Ievhez pr wvy Wjwpst, rssp
Petjrg bizf prqke pj Dsttfv.
Lfoz-ceqsd ybklqimo,
Frinp cc wve qnfhf
Wjmiz ja xjixzdo, ocz Jiz Rcj Xvhz Admno
zhzmbzy amjh ocz Bmzvo Kjjg,
Omvdgdib jkvg-ngdhz.
Fvgzdyjnxjkdx mzzyn nrvt di ocz vaozmhvoc,
Wztjiy ocz mzvxc ja Odhz.
Wvnvgo kdggvmn vgjib ocz wvoogz-czdbcon,
Vhdy ocz hjji'n nojgzi idbco.
Di kpmkgzy rzvgyn viy hdgft ajvh,
Ajmxzy amjh Cvggjrzy yjhdidji viy gzao oj mjvh
Rzzkn ocz Hvit-Qdnvbzy Jiz.
Ja Ncdzgy wzio
Ja Jvoc nkjfzi
Ymvbbzy wt Bjgyzi Xmjri, wzajmz vgg gvdy oj wzvm.
Mzio rdoc Nkzvm
Wmjfzi wt Nrjmy
Cz bmdkkzy ocz bmjpiy viy bmvnkzy ajm vdm.
Bjyn ja wmjfzi wzvnon, gzao rdoc rviyzmdib Rdgg
Hvyiznn vgg zixjhkvnndib, vgg wzmzao ja Ocmdgg.
A multiverse apart...
Zlalmaw Zfani
032.18510
88 AU from Terr-S35Y
Crowned around this world sits the Ishkgi ring, a colossal construct used to transfer the planet to an unfamiliar orbit. It acts as an anchor in the K'isti; one of millions used to travel the breadth of the Zlalmaw Gizati, the Eternal Empire.
It is filthy with parasites, stellar worms grown swollen as they leach off of the ring's energy. If ignored, they could eventually misalign the K'isti and cause untold chaos as voyagers find themselves ejected billions of years from their destination, or hurtling into the heart of a star as they fell from the bleed of superluminal travel.
A slurry of translucent protoplasma is exuded from vents along the ring's broad expanse. It propels itself through gravitational flux and undulates towards the nearest stellar worm. It envelops the organic mass, undergoing rapid cellular mutation as it begins the process of harvesting all energies and returning them to the K'isti. Similar slurries are ejected elsewhere to never complete their task; their hindrance nothing more than a bubble. A very particular bubble.
The bubble, an oscillating glome birthed from entropy, ascends and with its entry catalyzed the conversion of existence to a true vacuum. Geometries distort as the Greisman-Zatsepin-Kuzmin limit is ruptured with the sudden introduction of dark energy and an unknown force. Reality is violently rent through total protonic reversal then suffused into a grander magnitude of chaos.
10,000,000 AB
The Aggregate of No Dimension
Alone, in perfect self-contentment, exists the Absolute. Perpetuity manifest, the Absolute basks in its lack of imagination. Impeded by egoism, the Absolute was incapable of conceiving of anything other than itself and this reflected in its dominion; an infinitesimally small yet impossibly lustrous bead. It soliloquized in onanistic praise with bursts of low, monotonous tinkling.
"It is fathomless ecstasy! It occupies all, and all is it! One yet all, all yet one! Such splendor!"
Its luster faded as it was submerged into matterless void where billowing masses pulsed from one vague shape to another. It plummeted past effulgent spirals of quintessence and bled into something beyond existence. Neatly condensed, the Absolute is consumed.
7.7.2002
Mt. Takao, Japan Earth-B21X
"Ojii-san! I'm hungry!"
Beads of sweat roll down the gleaming pate of Seijuro Taniguchi as he plods along his scurrying grandson, hand in hand. The boy waves a toy katana as menacingly as he can, giggling with delight. He enjoys hiking with his grandfather; it meant picnics with all the sweets he could eat.
They stop at a series of benches and take a much-needed break. Seijuro dabs at his forehead with a handkerchief and basks in a cool breeze. His grandson runs happily into a field of soft grass, singing with each swing of his mighty blade.
"Delicious sweets! For you and me!"
Seijuro looks through the basket he'd brought and removes a small bundle wrapped in cloth. He opens it and pops a morsel into his mouth. Setting the bundle aside, he produces a watermelon and goes about cutting it.
"Keichii," the old man calls out having lost sight of the boy. There is no reply. "I've got
your favorite candied persimmons." He grows anxious at the continued silence and rises with an aged groan. Reaching the clearing, he rushes with a yell as he sees the thrashing form of his grandson.
"Help! Someone help!" the old man pleads as he swaddles the tiny frame in his arms, flecks of spit soaking into cotton. Seijuro clings to the child as clenched eyes burst open and in them was reflected..
Local Void
Universe-F67X
Engulfed in a field of its own spacetime, the beam had bored through countless AUs at transluminal speeds. Aberrant energies roiled, having dispersed none along its trajectory towards the core of a naked Kerr black hole. Spacetime is cast aside as it tunnels through the singularity, down a multiversal fault and into an adjacent universe along the nexus, B21X.
?
Alone, adrift in the wake of protonic decay is a crown, awash in crimson. Beyond time, the corpses of Titans sit like jewels set in morbid tapestry. Gods old and new had fallen in the 10^100 years since the crown-bearer's awakening. Might and cunning had failed them and with their passing, boredom grew. It reflected on its birth pangs. Having undergone complete subatomic breakdown, what had been Keichii Taniguchi struggled to bind its consciousness to a singular vessel. By way of energies it had yet to come across in its timeless travels, Keichii had been seeded into the subconscious of a multiversal cluster. Trapped within quantum uncertainty. The more of himself he perceived, the greater his capacity to experience and contain grew. Humans often numb to chronic pain but no respite was to be had at the hands of multiversal expansion.
Its omnipresent attention was suddenly aroused at the sensation of something at the edge of its dread awareness. The fluctuation and dilation of Time across infinity was but a stream to play in. It pierced the ken of Its being and perceived an object of its endless desire. Now surging with an azure brilliance, the crown-bearer stirred and with its motions a white hole was birthed into the Faultverse. Electromagnetic waves cascaded forth in a staccato of octaves, towards blight and brilliance.
Zlalmaw Zfani
032.18510
88 AU from Terr-S35Y
Crowned around this world sits the Ishkgi ring, a colossal construct used to transfer the planet to an unfamiliar orbit. It acts as an anchor in the K'isti; one of millions used to travel the breadth of the Zlalmaw Gizati, the Eternal Empire.
It is filthy with parasites, stellar worms grown swollen as they leach off of the ring's energy. If ignored, they could eventually misalign the K'isti and cause untold chaos as voyagers find themselves ejected billions of years from their destination, or hurtling into the heart of a star as they fell from the bleed of superluminal travel.
A slurry of translucent protoplasma is exuded from vents along the ring's broad expanse. It propels itself through gravitational flux and undulates towards the nearest stellar worm. It envelops the organic mass, undergoing rapid cellular mutation as it begins the process of harvesting all energies and returning them to the K'isti. Similar slurries are ejected elsewhere to never complete their task; their hindrance nothing more than a bubble. A very particular bubble.
The bubble, an oscillating glome birthed from entropy, ascends and with its entry catalyzed the conversion of existence to a true vacuum. Geometries distort as the Greisman-Zatsepin-Kuzmin limit is ruptured with the sudden introduction of dark energy and an unknown force. Reality is violently rent through total protonic reversal then suffused into a grander magnitude of chaos.
10,000,000 AB
The Aggregate of No Dimension
Alone, in perfect self-contentment, exists the Absolute. Perpetuity manifest, the Absolute basks in its lack of imagination. Impeded by egoism, the Absolute was incapable of conceiving of anything other than itself and this reflected in its dominion; an infinitesimally small yet impossibly lustrous bead. It soliloquized in onanistic praise with bursts of low, monotonous tinkling.
"It is fathomless ecstasy! It occupies all, and all is it! One yet all, all yet one! Such splendor!"
Its luster faded as it was submerged into matterless void where billowing masses pulsed from one vague shape to another. It plummeted past effulgent spirals of quintessence and bled into something beyond existence. Neatly condensed, the Absolute is consumed.
7.7.2002
Mt. Takao, Japan Earth-B21X
"Ojii-san! I'm hungry!"
Beads of sweat roll down the gleaming pate of Seijuro Taniguchi as he plods along his scurrying grandson, hand in hand. The boy waves a toy katana as menacingly as he can, giggling with delight. He enjoys hiking with his grandfather; it meant picnics with all the sweets he could eat.
They stop at a series of benches and take a much-needed break. Seijuro dabs at his forehead with a handkerchief and basks in a cool breeze. His grandson runs happily into a field of soft grass, singing with each swing of his mighty blade.
"Delicious sweets! For you and me!"
Seijuro looks through the basket he'd brought and removes a small bundle wrapped in cloth. He opens it and pops a morsel into his mouth. Setting the bundle aside, he produces a watermelon and goes about cutting it.
"Keichii," the old man calls out having lost sight of the boy. There is no reply. "I've got
your favorite candied persimmons." He grows anxious at the continued silence and rises with an aged groan. Reaching the clearing, he rushes with a yell as he sees the thrashing form of his grandson.
"Help! Someone help!" the old man pleads as he swaddles the tiny frame in his arms, flecks of spit soaking into cotton. Seijuro clings to the child as clenched eyes burst open and in them was reflected..
Local Void
Universe-F67X
Engulfed in a field of its own spacetime, the beam had bored through countless AUs at transluminal speeds. Aberrant energies roiled, having dispersed none along its trajectory towards the core of a naked Kerr black hole. Spacetime is cast aside as it tunnels through the singularity, down a multiversal fault and into an adjacent universe along the nexus, B21X.
?
Alone, adrift in the wake of protonic decay is a crown, awash in crimson. Beyond time, the corpses of Titans sit like jewels set in morbid tapestry. Gods old and new had fallen in the 10^100 years since the crown-bearer's awakening. Might and cunning had failed them and with their passing, boredom grew. It reflected on its birth pangs. Having undergone complete subatomic breakdown, what had been Keichii Taniguchi struggled to bind its consciousness to a singular vessel. By way of energies it had yet to come across in its timeless travels, Keichii had been seeded into the subconscious of a multiversal cluster. Trapped within quantum uncertainty. The more of himself he perceived, the greater his capacity to experience and contain grew. Humans often numb to chronic pain but no respite was to be had at the hands of multiversal expansion.
Its omnipresent attention was suddenly aroused at the sensation of something at the edge of its dread awareness. The fluctuation and dilation of Time across infinity was but a stream to play in. It pierced the ken of Its being and perceived an object of its endless desire. Now surging with an azure brilliance, the crown-bearer stirred and with its motions a white hole was birthed into the Faultverse. Electromagnetic waves cascaded forth in a staccato of octaves, towards blight and brilliance.
1-8-2039
58km W of Saudade (formerly Tripoli, Libya)
Dusk has settled when the Qandiisa makes its way to the pond. It cautiously moves towards the water's edge, surveying its surroundings before mandibles separate, revealing an extending proboscis. Hungry after a day's foraging only reaped a few seeds, it drinks deeply from the murk. Dorsal quills bristled subtly, from annoyance or at the cold was unknown. Demonstrably cunning, their intelligence was an indeterminate factor. Nuberu watched silently from atop the remnants of a nearby petrol station as the Qandiisa scraped its forehooves into the loam, searching for nutrient-rich utsi larva.
With bated breath, Nuberu took up the length of rebar he'd crafted into a spear with the majority of his strength. He coiled filament around its end several times before fusing the two together with a tightened grasp. Rising, he steadies himself as eyes zero in on the six-limbed ungulate.
Now!
Nuberu shifts his weight forward, hips turning with his motion and increasing the amount of force generated as his shoulder and arm extend. The ersatz spear sailed through the air and pierced concrete several feet to the right of his intended target. Showered in dust and debris, the Qandiisa bolts up the slope of the drainage canal and into the night.
2-8-2039
50km W of Saudade
All around Nuberu the early morning clicks and calls of new creatures are drowned out by growing winds. The air heavy with geosmin and decay, he continues in an exhausted fugue.
He shuffles between spires of prismatic glass, outspread stalks heavy with pulsating bulbs of luminous lichen. Certain the sound of laughter is carried on the creeping storm's headwind, Nuberu's steps falter and he tumbles. Laughter distorts into taunts and in his stupor his wounds go unnoticed. Momentarily.
Supine on the slope of a sandy pit, the heavy hides he wears cling to a deep gash in his abdomen. With a grimace he separates the furs, slick with sickly chartreuse from ashen flesh. The culprit, a chitinous barb nearly 30cm in length. Trembling hands grip bone and his world spins. With a wrench it's dislodged. Bile splatters to the ground. He refuses to make this his grave.
Nuberu presses a palm against his side and thrashes in agony as a throbbing glow cauterizes the wound. He begins his ascent when a furrow forms in the grimhollow's depths, and in the displaced sediment rows of chiming chelicerae are revealed. A pellucid arthropod erupts with the sound of faint music, roused by anguished thrashing. Crystal cracks as it clambers upwards, intent on making Nuberu its next meal.
Leaden limbs struggle in vain to raise him out of the pit while he slides further towards death. Time slows to a crawl. Nuberu closes his eyes and ceases attempting to escape, resigned to his fate. Fingers clench in frustration when he feels it; the calming nostalgia of his previous life manifest in an unadorned tantalum ring. With strengthened resolve, Nuberu musters every iota of vigor left to him. He envisions strength draining from every cell, pooling in a deep crater within.
A shrill hum rattles his core as Nuberu is overshadowed; the grimhollow is upon him when it is unexpectedly and explosively repelled. Nuberu's left eye is scorched to the bone, and from its hollow came a fading green glow. He is covered in pungent ichor and tarry debris when darkness descends.
6-8-2039
Saudade
Nuberu looks out as thick fog crept inland, preceding coastal storms. It blankets the graveyard Tripoli has become, obscuring its dangers from his vision. He adjusts the bandage covering his left eye and ruminates; all-in-all an eye in exchange for his life isn't the worst outcome.
When he awoke days ago he'd found most of the grimhollow to be inedible, but stomached what little he could. With renewed vigor, Nuberu completed his trek and established himself in the gutted remains of an air traffic tower.
Turning away from the observation deck, he lifts a broad blade and returns to the task of butchering the pair of large lizards he'd ensnared the night before. Nuberu ignites a small fire, fanning the flames absently as he admires the makeshift grill his meal laid upon.
Satisfied, he reclines on his furs with a wince. The pain from his side had dulled to a manageable level within the last day. Inspecting the wound, he is alarmed at the change in his physiology. The skin around the puncture has darkened to a matte obsidian and began to show signs of calcification. If he strained his good eye, Nuberu swore he could see the start of striations. He dozes while fat spills from the roasting carcass with a sizzle.
Nuberu awakens with an oppressive sensation of apprehension. With a grunt he pushes himself up and looks out over the necropolis for the source of his foreboding. He sees nothing but the same; remnants of a rich history buried beneath maleficent miasma.
All seems calm, he thinks to himself. Yet why is this feeling growing?
Nuberu looks past the city and into the Mediterranean. It was then that he saw the root of his concern; a beam composed of energies terrifying in frequency. He was frozen in awe at the whorl of particles left in the beam's wake as it descended beyond the horizon. And for the first time in over three decades, a blast of air from across the sea flowed inland.
Nuberu watched on as coastal waters began to churn in ever-growing fury. The mists that had clung to Saudade for so long began to dissipate, pulled out to sea. His mind reeled at the horrors slowly revealed. They slithered and shambled and crept towards freedom.
He scrambles to gather his things, stuffing as much food into his mouth as he can. Nuberu is in the process of pulling on his furs when the earth cracks with ire unimaginable. He struggles to maintain balance while the tower groans.
What is that roar...?
He feels the answer before it dawns on him. Nuberu reaches the air traffic tower's stairs as the tsunami becomes visible. A few seconds more and it's greedily devouring the shattered skyline. Crashing through an exit, he removes a small crystal located deep within his satchel and hastily buries it.
Nuberu hopes she hears his message.
58km W of Saudade (formerly Tripoli, Libya)
Dusk has settled when the Qandiisa makes its way to the pond. It cautiously moves towards the water's edge, surveying its surroundings before mandibles separate, revealing an extending proboscis. Hungry after a day's foraging only reaped a few seeds, it drinks deeply from the murk. Dorsal quills bristled subtly, from annoyance or at the cold was unknown. Demonstrably cunning, their intelligence was an indeterminate factor. Nuberu watched silently from atop the remnants of a nearby petrol station as the Qandiisa scraped its forehooves into the loam, searching for nutrient-rich utsi larva.
With bated breath, Nuberu took up the length of rebar he'd crafted into a spear with the majority of his strength. He coiled filament around its end several times before fusing the two together with a tightened grasp. Rising, he steadies himself as eyes zero in on the six-limbed ungulate.
Now!
Nuberu shifts his weight forward, hips turning with his motion and increasing the amount of force generated as his shoulder and arm extend. The ersatz spear sailed through the air and pierced concrete several feet to the right of his intended target. Showered in dust and debris, the Qandiisa bolts up the slope of the drainage canal and into the night.
2-8-2039
50km W of Saudade
All around Nuberu the early morning clicks and calls of new creatures are drowned out by growing winds. The air heavy with geosmin and decay, he continues in an exhausted fugue.
He shuffles between spires of prismatic glass, outspread stalks heavy with pulsating bulbs of luminous lichen. Certain the sound of laughter is carried on the creeping storm's headwind, Nuberu's steps falter and he tumbles. Laughter distorts into taunts and in his stupor his wounds go unnoticed. Momentarily.
Supine on the slope of a sandy pit, the heavy hides he wears cling to a deep gash in his abdomen. With a grimace he separates the furs, slick with sickly chartreuse from ashen flesh. The culprit, a chitinous barb nearly 30cm in length. Trembling hands grip bone and his world spins. With a wrench it's dislodged. Bile splatters to the ground. He refuses to make this his grave.
Nuberu presses a palm against his side and thrashes in agony as a throbbing glow cauterizes the wound. He begins his ascent when a furrow forms in the grimhollow's depths, and in the displaced sediment rows of chiming chelicerae are revealed. A pellucid arthropod erupts with the sound of faint music, roused by anguished thrashing. Crystal cracks as it clambers upwards, intent on making Nuberu its next meal.
Leaden limbs struggle in vain to raise him out of the pit while he slides further towards death. Time slows to a crawl. Nuberu closes his eyes and ceases attempting to escape, resigned to his fate. Fingers clench in frustration when he feels it; the calming nostalgia of his previous life manifest in an unadorned tantalum ring. With strengthened resolve, Nuberu musters every iota of vigor left to him. He envisions strength draining from every cell, pooling in a deep crater within.
A shrill hum rattles his core as Nuberu is overshadowed; the grimhollow is upon him when it is unexpectedly and explosively repelled. Nuberu's left eye is scorched to the bone, and from its hollow came a fading green glow. He is covered in pungent ichor and tarry debris when darkness descends.
6-8-2039
Saudade
Nuberu looks out as thick fog crept inland, preceding coastal storms. It blankets the graveyard Tripoli has become, obscuring its dangers from his vision. He adjusts the bandage covering his left eye and ruminates; all-in-all an eye in exchange for his life isn't the worst outcome.
When he awoke days ago he'd found most of the grimhollow to be inedible, but stomached what little he could. With renewed vigor, Nuberu completed his trek and established himself in the gutted remains of an air traffic tower.
Turning away from the observation deck, he lifts a broad blade and returns to the task of butchering the pair of large lizards he'd ensnared the night before. Nuberu ignites a small fire, fanning the flames absently as he admires the makeshift grill his meal laid upon.
Satisfied, he reclines on his furs with a wince. The pain from his side had dulled to a manageable level within the last day. Inspecting the wound, he is alarmed at the change in his physiology. The skin around the puncture has darkened to a matte obsidian and began to show signs of calcification. If he strained his good eye, Nuberu swore he could see the start of striations. He dozes while fat spills from the roasting carcass with a sizzle.
Nuberu awakens with an oppressive sensation of apprehension. With a grunt he pushes himself up and looks out over the necropolis for the source of his foreboding. He sees nothing but the same; remnants of a rich history buried beneath maleficent miasma.
All seems calm, he thinks to himself. Yet why is this feeling growing?
Nuberu looks past the city and into the Mediterranean. It was then that he saw the root of his concern; a beam composed of energies terrifying in frequency. He was frozen in awe at the whorl of particles left in the beam's wake as it descended beyond the horizon. And for the first time in over three decades, a blast of air from across the sea flowed inland.
Nuberu watched on as coastal waters began to churn in ever-growing fury. The mists that had clung to Saudade for so long began to dissipate, pulled out to sea. His mind reeled at the horrors slowly revealed. They slithered and shambled and crept towards freedom.
He scrambles to gather his things, stuffing as much food into his mouth as he can. Nuberu is in the process of pulling on his furs when the earth cracks with ire unimaginable. He struggles to maintain balance while the tower groans.
What is that roar...?
He feels the answer before it dawns on him. Nuberu reaches the air traffic tower's stairs as the tsunami becomes visible. A few seconds more and it's greedily devouring the shattered skyline. Crashing through an exit, he removes a small crystal located deep within his satchel and hastily buries it.
Nuberu hopes she hears his message.
the premise is we wanted to throw our most powerful characters into a free for all. the narrative started in one of our group threads and is as follows.
- highly advanced transdimensional beings create an engine out of a galaxy and use it to create a wave every couple billion years that tears ass across the universe and either kills or mutates everything that it hits. last time it fired off, it caused a hivemind to splinter into a new species.
- this time it has become an omniversal engine and is threatening to destroy all our respective universes/narratives.
that's the basics@ItMeGritty
- highly advanced transdimensional beings create an engine out of a galaxy and use it to create a wave every couple billion years that tears ass across the universe and either kills or mutates everything that it hits. last time it fired off, it caused a hivemind to splinter into a new species.
- this time it has become an omniversal engine and is threatening to destroy all our respective universes/narratives.
that's the basics@ItMeGritty
With a brief keystroke, the Nool Al-Pas released a chain of experimental projects which rocketed from their salvos and, once clearing shields, engaged in their short-range superluminal jump. These missiles rephased about half an AU from the far-flung celestial body, where they would collide with the planetoid once corporeal again. The algorithms that determined each missile function relayed between a complex network. Some of the missiles burrowed deep into the planetoids molten core, while others propelled the celestial body even faster, reengaging the planetoid into FTL travel.
Many light years away, Deimobos phased back into existence with a brilliant flash and a flicker as gravitrons shifted about its large frame. A halo of light backlit the planetoid like an ominous eclipse, as the phase rockets engaged their secondary boosters. The celestial body careened as it conserved its immense momentum, before crashing into the stomach-wall of the Cradle of Life. The initial impact nearly shattered the moon’s thick crust, but what followed the impressive collision would be observable to any entity within the solar-system swallowing creature’s gut.
Every warhead simultaneously detonated. The light of its doom would create one of the firstborn stars within the Cradle’s monster-made universe.
A sonorous roar reverberated through the Nool al-Pas as it began its onslaught against the innards of the beast that had swallowed part of the Dira var-Sha's accompanying fleet. Left to operate without their flagship's command, each Cizran warship added their own distinct style to the destruction. The experimental salvo was but one harmony in a symphony.
In conjunction with the cannonade, a viscous ferrofluid began to seep through apertures in the Nool al-Pas' hull. Its source was an enormous silo with channels passing through the ship leading to its exterior. As the effervescing effluvia drained into tributaries, a thrashing silhouette was revealed. Vaguely insectoid in nature, it thrashed atramentous appendages with great anticipation. It had been centuries since its last awakening; too few engagements called for use of the Voshd'gatr. A prime example of Cizran hubris, what had once been a niche species was now a blunt object with which to castigate any affront to Cizran authority.
The Voshd began to emit a low buzz from its labellum as spindly setae took form; each ending in thousands of bristles that ran through to join its viscid offal on the warship's hull. As its hum grew into a shrill whine, innumerable shards of beryllium sprouted from each aperture before being engulfed in thick globules that began to slough off the Nool al-Pas. Their descent was cut short as a wave shuddered through the ferrofluid, its hue shifting from pitch black to lustrous argent. The Gatr, a swarm of whorling beads, now surrounded the Nool al-Pas as the lunar projectile pierced the Cradle of Life's serous membrane; nuclear splendor reflected in the trillion ommatidia of the Voshd's compound eyes.
***
“That’s quite enough, thank you,” spoke a dim presence.
Compliant, the sumptuously vivid portrayal of Nenegin zar-Taliļ condensed to an acidic fog. Too heavy to remain aloft, its constituent droplets struck the deck mere meters from Karzar and Snil. Venomous hissing poisoned the aghast silence as the corrosive substance splashed, sizzled, and sated itself on all it pooled upon. Discrete, the miasma inevitably thinned and revealed a hovering black orb with a single point of white light in its midst. Once, twice it blinked. Then it exploded sharply—darkly.
Flitting through the detritus of the destroyed Apostite ship, the Voshd'gatr began a campaign of annihilation against all signs of life. The highly unstable nature of the Gatr's beryllium cores had immediately begun to react with the Voshd's ferrofluidic excrement and by the time terminal velocity had been achieved, each pearl had become a thermonuclear missile that erupted indiscriminately.
With a gesture, she ripped the Aptosite ship in twain from bow to stern. The groundwork was already in place from the explosive cocktail of nanites, chemicals, biologics, and femto-responsive quasi-mineral-organics—all of which burrowed into the enemy vessel’s hull as soon as the curtain was drawn back on their masquerade as Nenegin zar-Taliļ, Aredemos, and Kirri. Soon thereafter, the infection proliferated throughout the extent of the ship and its complement.
Unfamiliar as she was with their anatomy, Ezkshi did know few things fared well without atmosphere and she imagined the ruptured vessel would suffer a multitude of casualties.
Even so, she was not finished with her work; in fact, as far as konul manipulation went, she wasn’t even started.
Again, her consciousness expanded. She saw the whole of the strange being that interjected itself into the domain of the Empire. It swam in what was open space. Was, until she shaped her vision, and the whole fell into a box—one inundated with flashing MASERs, bursting LADAR, fulminating fusion reactions, would-be Cradles of Life, and genuflecting magicarp. The box compressed, like the interior of a trash compactor, shank, and cramped what was in it. The vision wasn’t hers alone, but it manifested in reality beyond her mind. What she did in this moment, her manipulation of the konul’s harvested potential, affected reality.
The box shrank into a nothing, and then was no longer in or part of the Su-laria galaxy. It had, instead, been all pushed into a microscopic dimension.
It was … inner space.
The cell she balanced on a talon contained the wreckage of Kilamara and Diemobos, the Cradle of Life and its pillaged worlds, and the Aptosite invaders. She had been careful to mortar the gaps precisely so as to plot an escape for her fleet and the nodes of the grid.
With a disgusted gesture, she flung it away; it skipped like a pebble across the trillions of light years of distance that separated the Empire from the slums of the verse.
The Aptosite flagship had been atomized in nuclear fury. Millions of Gatr began to pour out of the massive puncture in the Cradle of Life before erupting in a resplendent column of decimation. One that would continue to burn long after all traces of the petulant usurpers had been lost to the annals of Cizran antiquity.
6-8-2039
Free Territories (formerly Mozambique)
خفض أسلحتك
The command belched from behind the armed youth, followed by a hacking cough. Their weapons lowered as an elderly man passed between their ranks and stopped in front of the jeep. He was dressed in worn fatigues; drab ochre saturated in mid-day sweat. A shock of gray peeked out from beneath his cap contrasted starkly against his skin.
The old face cracked into a smile as scars carved deep channels into the weathered fields of his cheeks. He turned back to his armed guards and made a waving gesture with a wood-carved prosthetic.
الشباب ، تعال هنا
A girl, no older than 16, joined the old man's side. She laid her AK-M on the vehicle's hood, casting a curious glance in her periphery at Ndakala while rapidly exchanging words like gunfire in Arabic. Ndakala noted a wave of ease pass over the group as shoulders relaxed and sharp eyes softened. The girl addressed the pygmy in Xhosa, occasionally pausing as she struggled to translate her commander's message.
"Our general is most.. a-apologetic for this introduction. There is no place for.. violence amongst friends." The old man gave her a reassuring pat and she continued. "We would have you join us as guests."
At this the old man circled the jeep as he spoke through his companion. He stopped at the child caught in fitful sleep, clutching charred rags. He extended the cool wood of his prosthetic, soothing her slumber with a comforting touch.
"Has the child spoken?"
Ndakala peered over his shoulder at the child, eyes widening at the sudden recollection of her presence. The silence of their journey coupled with the recent carnage fresh in his mind had left him deeply troubled, but his wits quickly returned. "She has not. None of us have."
"And the one who charged you with this responsibility. Were they injured?" He opened the driver side door before politely stepping aside for Ndakala to exit.
The pygmy dismounted the vehicle cautiously, unsure of the old man's intentions. "Not that I noticed. Everything happened so quickly."
Satisfied, the old man extended his prosthetic to the pygmy in a gesture of good faith. The wood flushed with warmth; the digits animate with life firmly gripping flesh. He grinned broadly, addressing Ndakala and the elderly foreigner in English.
"Welcome, welcome. I am General Assad. We have quite the drive ahead of us, so let's make haste. My soldiers will confiscate your electronics. No need to leave those wardogs a trail." His soldiers spurred to action, they began the task of loading equipment while one scurried beneath the jeep. He emerged with the components of a GPS in his hands.
Assad sat behind the wheel of the jeep, looking back at Ndakala until he too entered the vehicle. They exited the compound, an abandoned military blockade, and turned on to a wide road hidden beneath thick canopy. The roar of a diesel engine surprised Ndakala; he hadn't heard one since childhood. An antiquated military transport rumbled behind the silent jeep. Their path followed a river southwards; the occasional thinning of the trees bathing them in shimmering brilliance.
After nearly an hour, Assad began to speak once more. His passengers were unsure if it was to them or himself. They had just crossed the river on an unusual stone bridge; it seemed to have risen from the very soil. The river's rushing echoed through a bizzare congregation of overgrown boulders.
"Some thousand years ago, this was the site of a great community. Khoikhoi and Sān tribes found themselves pushed to the south by drought and Bantu expansion. The former brought their mighty herds to graze these fertile lands; the latter using their advanced foraging and survival skills to supplement the livestock."
Assad turned away from the river, driving further into the jungle. He checked his watch, a pre-war novelty.
"They were the foundation of mighty kingdoms, all born from this great land. My friends, we wish to do the same."
Before them appeared a distortion in the road; a rippling haze that obscured what lay beyond. They continued through, much to the old american's chagrin. The rumble of the diesel engine echoed in a vast chamber before being cut off. Sunlight filtered through countless prisms in the cavernous ceiling, illuminating an expansive garage and loading bay underground.
"Welcome to Marange."
Free Territories (formerly Mozambique)
خفض أسلحتك
The command belched from behind the armed youth, followed by a hacking cough. Their weapons lowered as an elderly man passed between their ranks and stopped in front of the jeep. He was dressed in worn fatigues; drab ochre saturated in mid-day sweat. A shock of gray peeked out from beneath his cap contrasted starkly against his skin.
The old face cracked into a smile as scars carved deep channels into the weathered fields of his cheeks. He turned back to his armed guards and made a waving gesture with a wood-carved prosthetic.
الشباب ، تعال هنا
A girl, no older than 16, joined the old man's side. She laid her AK-M on the vehicle's hood, casting a curious glance in her periphery at Ndakala while rapidly exchanging words like gunfire in Arabic. Ndakala noted a wave of ease pass over the group as shoulders relaxed and sharp eyes softened. The girl addressed the pygmy in Xhosa, occasionally pausing as she struggled to translate her commander's message.
"Our general is most.. a-apologetic for this introduction. There is no place for.. violence amongst friends." The old man gave her a reassuring pat and she continued. "We would have you join us as guests."
At this the old man circled the jeep as he spoke through his companion. He stopped at the child caught in fitful sleep, clutching charred rags. He extended the cool wood of his prosthetic, soothing her slumber with a comforting touch.
"Has the child spoken?"
Ndakala peered over his shoulder at the child, eyes widening at the sudden recollection of her presence. The silence of their journey coupled with the recent carnage fresh in his mind had left him deeply troubled, but his wits quickly returned. "She has not. None of us have."
"And the one who charged you with this responsibility. Were they injured?" He opened the driver side door before politely stepping aside for Ndakala to exit.
The pygmy dismounted the vehicle cautiously, unsure of the old man's intentions. "Not that I noticed. Everything happened so quickly."
Satisfied, the old man extended his prosthetic to the pygmy in a gesture of good faith. The wood flushed with warmth; the digits animate with life firmly gripping flesh. He grinned broadly, addressing Ndakala and the elderly foreigner in English.
"Welcome, welcome. I am General Assad. We have quite the drive ahead of us, so let's make haste. My soldiers will confiscate your electronics. No need to leave those wardogs a trail." His soldiers spurred to action, they began the task of loading equipment while one scurried beneath the jeep. He emerged with the components of a GPS in his hands.
Assad sat behind the wheel of the jeep, looking back at Ndakala until he too entered the vehicle. They exited the compound, an abandoned military blockade, and turned on to a wide road hidden beneath thick canopy. The roar of a diesel engine surprised Ndakala; he hadn't heard one since childhood. An antiquated military transport rumbled behind the silent jeep. Their path followed a river southwards; the occasional thinning of the trees bathing them in shimmering brilliance.
After nearly an hour, Assad began to speak once more. His passengers were unsure if it was to them or himself. They had just crossed the river on an unusual stone bridge; it seemed to have risen from the very soil. The river's rushing echoed through a bizzare congregation of overgrown boulders.
"Some thousand years ago, this was the site of a great community. Khoikhoi and Sān tribes found themselves pushed to the south by drought and Bantu expansion. The former brought their mighty herds to graze these fertile lands; the latter using their advanced foraging and survival skills to supplement the livestock."
Assad turned away from the river, driving further into the jungle. He checked his watch, a pre-war novelty.
"They were the foundation of mighty kingdoms, all born from this great land. My friends, we wish to do the same."
Before them appeared a distortion in the road; a rippling haze that obscured what lay beyond. They continued through, much to the old american's chagrin. The rumble of the diesel engine echoed in a vast chamber before being cut off. Sunlight filtered through countless prisms in the cavernous ceiling, illuminating an expansive garage and loading bay underground.
"Welcome to Marange."
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