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The world it has been assigned. The world it has been given. The Spiral, hidden, far, far way, looked upon this new world. This lifeless, rocky world. This was not sufficient. There needed to be more. More happening. The Spiral first exerts its will upon this plane, it knew that once sentience and life had been given to the creatures it and its compatriots would bring, it would need to descend into hiding. But this is not that time. There is still much change to spark. It is its duty. Its goal. Nothing matters but the goal. A world without change is no world at all. The Spiral itself had no true personality, at least not as many know it, but it did have a ferocious, constant obsession with goals. For the first, and possibly last time, a "galaxy" appeared, endlessly spiraling in all directions, in ways that seemed impossible. This massive sight, glowing green, and filled with fake starts, hovered above on island. A tiny, almost pitiful island, near the very bottom of the world. Almost like an eye, the false galaxy forced itself above the island. Two small beams of light fell from the cosmic being, one a man in a sharp, white suit, and the other an automaton with the moon's very visage upon it, Manic and Lucid, respectively. Manic looked upon the cold, lifeless sea from the rocky shore he had been deposited to.
Wᴇʟʟ, ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀ ᴛᴀᴅ ᴏғ ᴀ ʟᴇᴛᴅᴏᴡɴ, ʀɪɢʜᴛ, Ms. Lᴜᴄɪᴅ? I ʜᴀᴅ ʜᴏᴘᴇᴅ ᴡᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀᴛ ʟᴇᴀsᴛ ᴊᴜᴍᴘᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴅᴅʟᴇ, ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ. Tʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀs ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ, ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀs ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ Aʀᴍᴀɢᴇᴅᴅᴏɴ ᴡᴀs ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ʜᴇʀᴇ!
Lucid did not speak.
Aʜ, ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs sᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ʙᴏʀᴇ, Ms. Lᴜᴄɪᴅ! Lᴇᴛ's ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴛᴛʏ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜɪɴɢs REALLY ɢᴇᴛ ɢᴏɪɴɢ! ...
...
Sᴛɪʟʟ ʟᴇᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ ʜᴀɴɢɪɴɢ, ʜᴜʜ?
As Manic attempted to start conversation with his stoic coworker, the Galaxy above sudden;y rumbled, as if it was planning something more. Both Manic and Lucid looked at the False Image of the Spiral, as it frayed and shook in ominous ways. Sensing what was coming, both Manic and Lucid teleported into the sea, manic holding onto the statue, as it could not swim. The collection of fake stars and lying stardust suddenly let loose a massive beam, much large than the ones that brought Manic and Lucid into this plane. The Galaxy ended up being absorbed, almost imploded into the beam, expanding and strengthening it, as it soaked and tainted the tiny, pitiful island.
The earth buckled and cracked, as the Island expanded, thin, 3 foot wide, twisting lines of black sand spread from it, connecting it with every other island in the sea below the hemisphere. However, a far greater change was happening underneath the island. The depths below the island slowly became hollow, bending and spiraling in hundreds of ways. Structures began to form as this underscape spread across the entire world's depths, endless cities of spiral architectures, tunnels that never ends, and twisters that only increase in size. Caves that are bigger on the inside than the outside, staircases that defy even gravity. Tiny, glowing green Galaxies spread throughout these depths, illuminating the land and producing strange, multicolored gases. These Gases were all funneled, to a massive, Spiral Engine directly below the island, which would both multiply the gases and vent them to the above world, allowing, Manic and Lucid to moves wherever the clouds exist. With these clouds, came oxygen and other gases, in droves.
Large, almost endless, twisting pipes emerge from the formerly tiny islands, releasing the gas, and creating elevators (powered by the gases released) that would bring the lucky into the underscape, and the unlucky trapped in the Elevator's loop eternally.It was really a 50/50 chance. At least they had good elevator music. The Spiral made sure the underscape, aside from the area around the island, was truly in the depths, allowing the future civilizations to mine, but, should they ever dig too deep...
From a safe that suddenly appeared, inconspicuously in the ocean, floating as though it were driftwood, Manic pulled out a decidedly spirally Megaphone, and began to speak, in a tone so loud that even all the other gods could hear it.
Tʜᴇ Sᴘɪʀᴀʟ, Gᴏᴅ ᴏғ Cʜᴀɴɢᴇ, Mᴀsᴛᴇʀ ᴏғ Lᴏᴏᴘs, ᴀɴᴅ Lᴏʀᴅ ᴏғ Sᴜᴅᴅᴇɴʟʏ sʜᴏᴡɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ɴᴏᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀᴛ ɪɴᴏᴘᴘᴏʀᴛᴜɴᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇs, ʜᴀs ᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇʀʀᴇsᴛʀɪᴀʟ ᴀʙʏss ᴀs ʜɪs ʟᴀɴᴅ, ғᴇᴇʟ ғʀᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴠɪsɪᴛ sᴏᴍᴇᴛɪᴍᴇ! Wᴇ sᴇʀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʙʀᴇ--
At that last remark, Lucid took the megaphone, and crumpled it. Finally, there was one last message to the other gods, but unlike the others, it was no heartfelt speech or witty joke, but rather a twisted cacophony, the sounds of nails scraping on a chalkboard, cicadas chirping, and animals of every degree growing.
The Spiral had arrived.