Glorious Shotgun Princess, Thread 3

[GreggHL]

So the story goes that one week, way back when, Autochthon got really bored, wandered off into Elsewhere and built himself a massive facility where he could retreat if he suddenly realized he had gotten himself in actual danger. Sadly, physics being what it is in Elsewhere, the place is crooked, with bent walls, strange lights through the full wall-windows, and a tendency of things smelling like lavender.

It is, however, well appointed and quite safe. The floors are all at a slight angle but sturdy, the wood is freshly varnished, and the ceilings high enough to accommodate even is twenty meter-tall encounter bodies. However, the acoustics are a little off, so it does make him wince a bit and take a step back in his suit when the lovely young woman- who's fake mustache has fallen off in the confusion- screams at the top of her lungs and retreats against the far wall.

"Yes! Yes! No need to scream, the transit is over." The head of the giant opens with a burst of steam. Collapsing onto its shiny golden ass, the armor releases the sphere. It floats over, iris shifting open and shut, light playing over the wide-eyed face of the deity. "Before we begin, would you like something to drink? Or perhaps lie down?"

The back of the sphere opens up like a blooming flower. But instead of pollen and stems, eight skeletal golden arms come out, each ending in a different appendage or manipulator. Some of which glow. "Now, now are you unhurt?" The iris shifts and the sphere tilts. "Because you seem a little put out-"

Her shrieking comes to an abrupt end. Not because she has stopped screaming, but because her voice has given out. One appendage, a glowing bulb, wanders close to he collar where her fake mustache had fallen. An alarmed warble and he pulls it back. The wax construct, partially melted, snaps back and reforms on her lip.

"Sorry sorry," he says. The wall behind the sphere shifts and folds down. A blast of heat hits them both, the sphere turning a deeper, richer gold and the wax melting down her lip. The furnace behind Autochthon glows blue, then shifts down into the floor and is replaced by a series of overflowing clay jars.

Autochthon turns. The iris shifts wide. "My that's a lot of prayer. Let me get you something to drink." The sphere ambles over to the jars, humming to himself.

It hovers in front of the jars. The floor beneath the sphere opens, and another encounter suit- half the size of the one that abducted her, rises up. The sphere slides into an opening in the back, and large golden hands gathering up shimmering liquid. "Ah! Yes! Jadeborn. Good, good, they're still around need to do something about them..."

Golden lightning and crystal fire plays over a sphere of shimmering liquid hovering between his hands. It expands out, first into a large, antique plate. Upon it forms cups and a kettle. A stream of liquid rises from one of the jars on the floor and becomes rich brown tea before dripping into the cups and then filling the kettle.

"Please don't kill me," the god says, her voice faintly higher than a whisper.

The tray, cups, and kettle drop to the floor. The golden giant almost topples over from spinning so fast. He stammers for a long moment, then finally forms a coherent, "What?"

 

[GreggHL]

So the story goes that one week, way back when, Autochthon got really bored, wandered off into Elsewhere and built himself a massive facility where he could retreat if he suddenly realized he had gotten himself in actual danger. Sadly, physics being what it is in Elsewhere, the place is crooked, with bent walls, strange lights through the full wall-windows, and a tendency of things smelling like lavender.

It is, however, well appointed and quite safe. The floors are all at a slight angle but sturdy, the wood is freshly varnished, and the ceilings high enough to accommodate even is twenty meter-tall encounter bodies. However, the acoustics are a little off, so it does make him wince a bit and take a step back in his suit when the lovely young woman- who's fake mustache has fallen off in the confusion- screams at the top of her lungs and retreats against the far wall.

"Yes! Yes! No need to scream, the transit is over." The head of the giant opens with a burst of steam. Collapsing onto its shiny golden ass, the armor releases the sphere. It floats over, iris shifting open and shut, light playing over the wide-eyed face of the deity. "Before we begin, would you like something to drink? Or perhaps lie down?"

The back of the sphere opens up like a blooming flower. But instead of pollen and stems, eight skeletal golden arms come out, each ending in a different appendage or manipulator. Some of which glow. "Now, now are you unhurt?" The iris shifts and the sphere tilts. "Because you seem a little put out-"

Her shrieking comes to an abrupt end. Not because she has stopped screaming, but because her voice has given out. One appendage, a glowing bulb, wanders close to he collar where her fake mustache had fallen. An alarmed warble and he pulls it back. The wax construct, partially melted, snaps back and reforms on her lip.

"Sorry sorry," he says. The wall behind the sphere shifts and folds down. A blast of heat hits them both, the sphere turning a deeper, richer gold and the wax melting down her lip. The furnace behind Autochthon glows blue, then shifts down into the floor and is replaced by a series of overflowing clay jars.

Autochthon turns. The iris shifts wide. "My that's a lot of prayer. Let me get you something to drink." The sphere ambles over to the jars, humming to himself.

It hovers in front of the jars. The floor beneath the sphere opens, and another encounter suit- half the size of the one that abducted her, barely more than two meters tall, rises up. The sphere slides into an opening in the back, and large golden hands gathering up shimmering liquid. "Ah! Yes! Jadeborn. Good, good, they're still around need to do something about them..."

Golden lightning and crystal fire plays over a sphere of shimmering liquid hovering between his hands. It expands out, first into a large, antique plate. Upon it forms cups and a kettle. A stream of liquid rises from one of the jars on the floor and becomes rich brown tea before dripping into the cups and then filling the kettle.

"Please don't kill me," the god says, her voice faintly higher than a whisper.

The tray, cups, and kettle drop to the floor. The golden giant almost topples over from spinning so fast. He stammers for a long moment, then finally forms a coherent, "What?"

"Please don't kill me," she repeats, voice a strained squeak, her hands gripping her arms, "I don't want to die. I don't want to be turned into starmetal." Shoulders shake, eyes still locked on Autochthon, even as he gestures and the tray, cups and all rise into the air next to him. "I don't want to die," she repeats, stammering out words, "I don't want to die. I really, really don't want to die."

The tray hovers in front of her. The golden man tilts his head. Some dim thoughts, recognition, spark through the mind of the Maker. "What's your name?" he asks.

"Noedumari," she says, "God of Disguises Badly Put Together." She doesn't touch the tray, hands still locked around her arms. Wax dribbles down her chin, joined by two streams of clear water that begin to come from her eyes.

The facet eyes shift and blink. "Ah. Noedumari, do you know who I am, and why I brought you here?" It registers in the back of his mind. Old memories he had, by and large, forgotten. Sights and sounds of a time eons ago, when he was a universe into himself.

She nods, quickly. She wipes a red sleeve over her face, staining it with wax and tears and snot. Her hands come up to the collar of her tunic, her eyes meeting the expressionless metal face of the Maker. "I, uh," she chokes, "I'll do anything you ask, honest. Just, just." She begins working a clasp on the collar, pulling at it. Breaking it. "I just don't want to die. I just don't want to die."

She repeats it, over and over again, and he tilts his head. Confusion plays over his thoughts, watching her trying to undo her top. Shaking hands fail to even work the first two clasps before she gives up, tears and wax and raw, naked terror running down her face. "s'not fair," she gurgles, "I never did anything!" Her shoulders shake and her chest heaves. "I don't w'na die. I don't w'na die. I don't w'na die."

Head down, eyes closed, back pressed against the wall, she reacts only with harder and harder flinching from each step he takes closer to her. He glances at her face, tear streaked and nose running, the wax thing that must be some sort of badge of office a smudge over the lower half of her face. He looks down and sees the puddle dripping from the hem of her dress.

Actual, full recognition plays over his mind and at that moment, Autochthon, the Great Maker, realizes. It has taken over a billion years, endless eons of continued existence. Observations of others, endless cycles of life, death, everything in between. Self-surgery, self-improvement, to be able to look outside of his purview.

And for a brief moment, he does ask himself the question of what can I make to fix this problem? But then, even though it feels like it physically hurts him, he pushes down the question. He instead, asks himself a different question. A question that he has seen those he travels with ask, those he values as more than tools and vectors and components of plans ask.

What would Commander Shepard do in this situation?

Two gold hands, each one large enough that they could crush this girl's head with minimum effort, reach out and grip her shoulders. She starts, choked sounds coming from her mouth, and he gently eases her off the wall and against himself. Arms wrap around her shoulders, and he says nothing, silent and confused against the sounds of her miserable sobs and the repeated mantra of how she doesn't want to die.

After a while, after a time which his internal chronometer clocks at twenty four minutes, she stops. He glances down to make sure that, yes, she is still awake, she hasn't collapsed or fainted. But at very least she isn't shaking. Easing her off of him, he holds her at arms length. She does not look up, does not say anything.

"Right. Sorry for the scare. I just needed you to help me work through exactly what is happening here." He turns, a doorway appearing on a wall next to them. "Let's get you comfortable, shall we? And perhaps cleaned up, you are a guest after all and" He clears his throat. "Right! Everyone! We have a guest! Let's make things tidy!"

There are sounds of cheers and skittering legs, and he gently leads her out of the large, warped room.

 

[GreggHL]

Kal'Reegar looks down at the still hot cup of something which he is told is coffee. Despite the fact that it shouldn't be edible to him, it is. Fucking magic is the mental response. Slumping shoulders back, he looks up. His helmet on the round table in front of him, with the rest of the assembled group sitting equidistant.

Wuffles, to his right, is daintily eating a rich cream soup and on their second cup of tea. Kamilla, to Kal's left, drinking a dark chocolate drink. Around them, patrons of the indoor tea shop mill about, giving them distance and space, leaving a line of empty tables between them and Kal's group. Or, particularly, the straw haired woman sitting across from him.

"So you met Luna and this is the first I hear of Autochthon's return." Mercury blinks. "I feel I was denied pertinent, need to know information."

Customers mill about, trays carried by spider octopi. Out of the corner of his eye, Kal sees what he swears is a Krogan, but a second glance confirms it is just a turtle-camel-person. Sunlight streams through windows on the roof, and in a blink becomes moonlight. "And she's in the lead," Mercury states.

Kal taps his fingers on the table, wisely silent. Kamilla nods, a mustache of melted chocolate above her lip. Wuffles sips their tea. "Well," Mercury sighs, "It is still an excellent and long journey you have been on Chosen. And, it is about to resume."

Kal opens his mouth to ask what she means. However, his questions are answered in the form of a golden boot that takes the door of the cafe off its hinges and sends it flipping end over end.

"You lot are hopelessly lazy and corrupt, let me tell you that!" Kal's eyes go wide at the familiar voice. Wuffles extends all four petals, and four new ones that extend from the back of their head. Kamilla claps her hands and smiles, sitting up. "I tell you bureaucracy? Favors? Bloody politicking?!"

Startled and strangled gasps from the patrons. Trays drop in time with two golden hands tearing the doorway open. "I tell you! I think Little-Miss-Fire-and-Glass-Balls-and-a-thing-for-Daddy was right about you lot! Things were better when we were in charge, let me tell you!"

The front half of the restaurant empties. Shrieks and cries from skittering creatures running for the back door. Kal stands up, rolling his shoulders up and holding his face in his hands. Kamilla vaults over the table and floats towards the gold, facet-eyed giant that strides in with a huff and harrumph.

Shaking his fist, stomping his feet, Autochthon pushes aside tables between him and his companions. "Celestial bureaucracy! Departments! Turf wars! There's going to be some changes around here, let me tell you! There will be some-"

"Great Maker! Welcome back to Yu-Shan!"

The golden giant turns. Those patrons still left in the bar look over the tipped over tables and up from behind the bar, and their faces turn a paler shade of marble white.

Autochthon looks down, just as his wrist is taken in the hand of the man in front of him. "I have heard rumors of your return, O Maker, but it is good to see they are not just whispers and misdirection. Allow me to be the first to formally welcome you back to the world you called home."

Facet eyes twist in their sockets. The oversized, golden head tilts. "Ah, yes. An Exalted?"

The man, white hair receded to a long ponytail, neatly kept goatee on his chin, bows. The wrackstaff next to him keeps upright on its own volition until he grabs it once more. "Indeed. We Chosen of the Maidens have awaited your return. After all, the stories tell that it was you who created them, after all."

Autochthon raises a hand, single finger extended. "Yes, funny story about that..." The old man turns and leads the Maker out of the cafe. Kal turns to the others, and nods. Then turns to the table, and finds Mercury gone. Shrugging, he runs out and along to the retreating Auto and the man leading him.

"Excuse me! Sir!" The old man turns to Kal, not slowing his step in the least. "Excuse me, but what-"

"Chosen of Journeys," the elder says, pinning Kal with deep green eyes, "Welcome to Yu Shan. As well you, Emissary of the Geth." The eyes glance to the girl now riding Wuffles' shoulders. "And you, Miss Kamilla. Come, come."

They stop at a part in the wall over a canal. He taps his staff, and a boat appears as if bidden. "We have much work to do," he says, "Journeys, you have some paperwork to catch up with. As for you, honored Maker." He bows his head once more. "I do not know the fate of your estates in Creation, but I will gladly give you use of mine. Work keeps me too busy, after all."

They step into the boat, which speeds along the canal. Kal rubs the back of his head, glancing at Wuffles, then at Kamilla, then at Autochthon. Finally, he turns to the old man. "I...I'm sorry, sir. But who are you?"

The old man smiles, flashing green eyes and leaning on his staff. "My name is Chejop Kejak, Kal'Reegar. Welcome to Yu Shan."

 

[GreggHL]

The gloved hand reaches out, grips the corner of the wax mustache, and tears it off with one swift yank. The jade box is shoved into her hands, messily packed with frames, a cup, and gold chopsticks, and she takes a step back before the etched golden door three times her height is slammed into her face.

Noedumari stares at the door for long moments. She blinks. Once, twice. Crowds pass by behind her, overlooking the spires and domes of this corner of Heaven. Her hair frazzles, the chopsticks falling out, and her shoulders sag.

The sudden, horrific reality hits her.

Realization like thunder from on high.

She has been fired.

A deep breath, and she bends down, grabbing her chopsticks from the ground and roughly shoving them into her box. Hair hanging in frizzy strands over her face and over her back, she walks down the street. Head hung low, she marches with neither direction nor purpose. It's not like she has much of a home to go to. She spent all her time at work for a reason, after all.

Her apartment building is a stop, at best. Somewhere for her to sleep. Some nights. If it wasn't a night she was trying to butter up a superior, or a colleague or...or whatever. Or because she had nothing better to do.

Walking with unsteady steps, an uneasy gait, she walks on automatic down a practiced route. Sits on a canal boat with her possessions in her lap, listening to rushing wind and water that carries her towards her apartment stop.

Destiny states that she would enter her single room flat, sparsely furnished save for mementos of the few good relationships she has had in her life, where she would sit for days before finding some other meaningless, busywork job.

But a single, long leg plucks a string, and as she walks to the door of her building, the hem of the blue, white lined robe is pulled by tiny mandibles. She looks down, and sees a small ball on twenty four long legs, with many eyes lining its back and face, and two twitching furry ears. A long limb wraps around her wrist like a ribbon, and Noedumari is pulled along.

"Um-"

"Hi thar," it squeaks, voice like wind through whistles and cheerful like a song, "Nice to meet ya again! I'm [019] maintenance [arm] of [Designate] Cluster of Entrepreneurial Iridescent Cecay!"

She blinks. She has seen stranger creatures in her years, although most creatures this odd and many-limbed tend to be more gruff. Or grabby. Not cheerful and skipping along, with mood and smiles that seem infectious.

She lets the spider pull her along. Soon, her steps become lighter, her box held underneath one arm and its weight forgotten. A smile crosses her pale, haggard face, even as the light of the moon becomes the light of the zenith sun. Within moments, perhaps. Hours, possibly, but she was not keeping track of time, she finds herself standing in front of doors of the bluest Jade and carved gold.

They open, and she is pulled along by the chittering, singing little girl, down embroidered hallways, past shuddering piles of paperwork, past long limbed gods who give only the slightest curious glance at the small creature and the companion it is pulling along.

It feels as if the world is pushing her towards this, pushing her towards a door decorated with spinning gears and symbols of blasting steam. The spider vanishes into a crack of white in the floor, closing under her feet. Hesitating hits her gut once again, but she feels she cannot turn back, cannot stop.

Box tucked under her arm, she raises her hand and knocks.

It opens after the third knock, and she enters a domed room with walls lined with brass and copper pipes. The floor shifts, and a conveyor belt carries her across the room and towards a desk made of wrought metal. Spinning gears and moving waldos shift around the desk, bringing papers and quills to the copper and brass man sitting behind it.

He looks up, blinking the two sapphire eyes on either side of his sharp nose, and the third ruby eye on his forehead. Long, pointed fingers tap pieces of paper, signed documents and knick knacks.

"Yes?" he asks, voice a low purr that makes her skin crawl. Noedumari clears her throat.

"Hi. I'm looking for a job," she says. Keeps her voice steady and tries to not show the nervousness, the uncertainty.

He grins, eyes tracing down her face, her chest. Hovering there, then continuing down. "Well, I don't have any openings," he says, leaning back in the chair, "But, I'm sure we can come to an arrangement."

She grinds her teeth. Going to be one of those. Fine, she can do that. Wouldn't be the first time. "I'm sure we can work something out," she breathes.

"Oh yes. I'm certain we can." Two gold hands, each big enough to fit her head inside the palm, appear on her shoulders. The god behind the desk sits up, staring. Not at Noedumari.

Instead, at the five meter tall golden giant that has appeared behind her. He stammers, craning his neck up, up, until his eyes meet the two facet cut gems on the face of Autochthon.

"Hi there," the Maker says, voice low and steady.

The god coughs. Clears his throat. Tries to remember to breath. "Can...can I help you?" he squeaks.

Autochthon nods. "For starters, you can get out of my chair." The god does nothing. Says nothing, staring in a mix of horror, shock, and more horror. "So," Autochthon says, the grill on his face curving up, "Who are you?"

The metal man blinks, again and again. Finally, "I...I'm the God of Machines."

A small burst of steam escapes Autochthon's grill. "Wrong answer."




The door to the office explodes outwards, and the former God of Machines bounces once, twice on the ground before catching his nose on the floor and jerking to a stop. He rolls onto his back, skittering back on long metal legs.

Ignoring his shrieks, Autochthon stands in the doorway. Hands out, gold lightning plays over the doorway to expand it to accommodate his massive form, then re-forms the doors out of thin air. Extending a hand, golden cables shoot out. Wrapping around the former God of Machine's ankles, they yank him over to Auto.

Wrapping his fingers around the god's head, he pulls him up to eye level. "Consider yourself...transferred. You are now Undersecretary Second Division to the God of Machines. Which means you will never tell anyone what you saw, speak of this to no one, and not interact with me at all." He yanks him closer. "Or I have a shiny new bit of starmetal to give to my favorite student, which she would probably use to make, I don't know, a set of earrings for the girl you tried to proposition."

The smaller metal god stammers. "But-but. Do I get an office?"

Facet eyes twist. A golden brow narrows. "Find a broom closet." He off-handedly tosses the god aside, walks back into the office, and slams the doors shut.

 

[GreggHL]

Deep beneath the earth, beneath mountains of stone and metal, lays a civilization of great ages past. Forgotten by some, exploited by others, they have for millennial ages prayed for a sign. Any sign, of their absent creator. On this day their prayers are answered.

It starts, as a light at the corner of their vision. Expanding out until it illuminates the ceiling of the caverns and underground kingdoms like the Sun they are forbidden to bath in. It warms them, refreshes them, nourishes them. At once, they know. Even though only a handful may have the living memory of it, they know.

My children, first born of my brilliance!

It booms like thunder from on high. The longed for voice of an absent God.

I have returned! I AM AUTOCHTHON!

A pickaxe, held by a man of stone, rises. "Praise the Maker!" he yells.

"PRAISE THE MAKER!" the Jadeborn cry, their shouts shaking the firmament beneath Creation.

PRAISE THE MAKER! Autochthon booms. My children, as I have promised, as you have longed for, I have RETURNED! Now! Witness the revelation I gift to you! And build! Build! BUILD!




The body rests, its head open like a blossomed flower. The golden sphere hovers over the fanned out paperwork, a stamp in one skeletal limb and tapping down on the papers one by one. "Yes yes, easier to control two different bodies than two similar mm hm yes need to check in on the one in the Bureau of Destiny ah hm and cross the t's and dot the i's..."

The golden sphere of Autochthon looks up. Noedumari's eyebrows perk. Her clothes straighten out, wrinkles disappearing. Her hair smoothes out, the frizzes and hints of gray disappearing. Two sets of earrings, made of small metal balls hanging from her lobes, appear on each ear, followed by a necklace.

"And there we go," he says, "You are now charged with the purview over the contruction, maintenance, and usage of...ah..." He glances down. "Ball bearings."

Her face threatens to split horizontally from the length of her smile. "I-I have a job!"

He glances back down. "And a sizable cult. I really should do something about the Jadeborn." A sigh, and he rises from the chair and floats around the desk. "And I have a job, too! God of Machines! Deus Machina...hm, should ask if it would confuse the boy..."

Noedumari raises a hand. Iris spinning open, the sphere turns to her. "Excuse me?" she asks, "I...ah, I know that you're not going to turn me into starmetal or experiment on me. So, could I ask something?"

The sphere tilts forward and back.

"Why?" she asks.

Two metal plates rise and fall. "Because it was my fault you were fired," he responds with a sigh, "I figured the least that I could do would be to help you find a new job, as it was my outburst that lead to you getting let go."

She smiles, a faint tug on her lips. Her shoulders roll up and she fixes the chopsticks back into her hair. "It...probably wasn't?" She sighs. "I was probably going to be fired sooner than later. I'm no good at office politics, and, well-"

"This makes it no less my fault." The iris shutters, then opens back up. "Of course, I'm quite new to this version of Heaven, so if I'm going to head a department I am not what you would call subtle." A faint pause, followed by him turning to the door, then back to her. "So I certainly will need an assistant. I should make you a desk!"

She nods. "Well." She shrugs. "I'm going to maybe guess that people know about a gold giant that calls itself Autochthon. Do you have...you know, a disguise? Or something that looks a bit more normal?"

A crack of white light appears beneath the sphere. Where there was a floating ball of brass, gold and silver, there is now a lanky, long fingered man, leaning on a short cane made of brass and shifting, rotating shadows. He strokes the scraggy beard hanging from his chin, his eyes silver metal irises around sparks of electricity.

"I did think that through, actually," he says, his voice still carrying a faint digital echo, "A few suggestions from my apprentice and a little research into some cultures of the universe I was in for the past few eons told me this matches close enough with my mythos." He cranes his neck with a wince. "What about your opinion? Is this acceptable?"

Noedumari shrugs. "Close enough." She then walks over, cups the back of his head, and kisses him. Silver irises snap open and spark, his free hand snapping open. Crystal fire plays over his fingers, and a pillar rises up next to him to brace himself as he loses his footing.

He blinks, face blank. A tick underneath the skin and he blinks again, going from stoicism to confusion. "What was that for?" he stammers.

"This isn't the first time I've lost a job because of something someone else did," she says, arms draping over her shoulders, "But it is the first time that someone's helped me after." Her smile, already pulling close to her ears, already infectious enough that one spills over onto his face, goes just a bit wider. And she leans in, tightens her arms around his shoulders, and hugs him.

Surprise becomes realization. Realization becomes a lesson learned. Autochthon, the Great Maker, comes to a conclusion. Taking responsibility for his actions will get pretty girls to kiss him. And so, he resolves to take responsibility.




Deep beneath the western ocean of Creation, a single, solitary sphere rests. It has lain dormant for centuries, sleeping since the last grievous misuse of its might, of its power. It has lain, darkened and dreaming, for what fated fool would seek it out.

Until it hears the cries of the Jadeborn. The booming voice of a god. A call and declaration.

I AM AUTOCHTHON, it hears.

An iris of moonsilver opens, illuminating the depths of the sea with vermillion light.

"No You Are Not," the Eye declares.

 

[GreggHL]

Hands folded on the table in front of him, his head rests between his elbows. The slow and steady rise of his shoulders confirms he is alive, though the steady padding of the hammer in the blue-eyed woman's hand suggests that will soon change.

A snort, and yellow eyes open. Kal'Reegar sits up in his chair, grabs his pen, and nods. "Nap's done. Wuffles, you need to power down or sleep?"

"We do not, Creator Kal'Reegar. However, we must consult with you on possible irregularities in duplicate copies of these documents." Wuffles reaches into the pile next to him, two hands pulling out two folded and marked papers. Kal nods, reaching into the arranged stack next to him.

"Lay it on me, buddy."

A door to the side- one which was not apparently any more than a panel of wood- opens and a woman with long black hair and green eyes walks in. Clad in translucent green and black skirts, the slim figure glides across the room, eyes locked on the collection of gods and the odd Journeys. Spotting Siaka sitting on a desk claimed as her perch over the hapless new meats.

"They haven't escaped?" May Blossom asks.

Iron Siaka shakes her head, slow and steady. She watches, blue eyes narrowed. The Journeys trades a paper with the multi-armed-god-cloud-thing and they both sign off on something, placing it on the stack titled 'review.' A cart, embroidered and blue and gold, pushed in by a tiger-headed god passes the doorway.

"Just put'em over there," Kal says, checking off boxes on a new sheet, free hand pointing to a half-filled enclosure, cordoned off by four chairs with the words 'New Arrivals' spelled out on blank paper.

"You stopped them?" the green-eyed woman asks.

"They. Haven't. Tried." The words are said slow, low and accompanied by the sounds of grinding teeth. "I. Said. I. Was. Going. To. Take. A. Leak." She works her jaw, glancing between the two, and the slowly rising piles of 'Done' forms. "They were there. When I. Got back."

May Blossom, Chosen of Secrets, blinks. "They like doing paperwork what is this."

Teeth grind. The gloved hands stroke the head of the mace, blue eyes narrowing. The green eyed girl shakes her head and sidesteps in front of Siaka. Arms out, blocking her view of Reegar, she reads the intent of the Chosen of Serenity with crystal clarity. "No," she whispers, "No no no. Serenity, find your serenity."

"I'm gonna find my serenity all over the back of his head," Iron Siaka growls, voice low and rumbling. The black haired woman shakes her head, standing in front of the sidereal. Turning, blocking Siaka's view of the bashing-worthy offense, she slaps on a smile and clears her throat.

"So." She straightens out her skirts. "I take it you're not unfamiliar with bureaucratic procedures, mm?"

The pen twirls in the two fingered hand and slides into the ink well. He turns to May Blossom and nods, then turns back to the stacked papers. "It's important," he says, "Not like I enjoy it, but well, it's not like I've actually smelled paper before. Might as well take my victories where I can get them."

May Blossom turns back to Siaka, mouthing 'smelled?'

"Creators are confined to environmental suits due to frail immune systems," Wuffles states, shuffling another ten completed forms into the Done stack, "Creator Kal'Reegar no longer requires them."

Kal chuckles, looking up and watching May Blossom walk through the towers of 'fate errors,' he was told, and 'destinies', and other such things. At, least he understands, "Well, these are my fault." A sigh, glancing at the black haired woman. The shuffle of her steps, her sway, briefly reminds him of the girl back home. But, he forces it down, forces himself to focus.

"Anyway, you gotta keep track of things! Don't have records of your air processors, don't know you have them. Don't track your armory, you never know you could've taken that rocket launcher no one claimed."

A questioning grunt from behind them. Siaka tilts her head, mace planted into the desk next to her. "What's a rocket launcher?" she asks.

Kal glances over to Wuffles. Wuffles extends his petals. "You got a...firing range or something around here?" Kal asks.

 

[GreggHL]

It floats above a dead star. A tower of rock, metal, and flesh. Orbiting it in slow, eventual death. Held aloft by the wonders granted by their makers. Tilted to its side, the wreck of its master driven through it, the homeworld of the once-empire orbits the heart of the galaxy.

Within the core of the tower, they sit above the pulsing blue heart. Six Collectors, insectoid men in black chitin with angular heads and emaciated bodies. Four eyes closed, and they meditate in lotus position. Veins of gold have already been sewn into them- the second step, after awakening them from their slumber- in forging them to be greater.

Behind them, he sits. He meditates. A man in the prime of youth- though such youth is an illusion. He has not aged for eons, as is his gift. As is his power. Even before his transformation, even before his ascendance. A young man with black hair cropped short, his face blank and jaw set. The twitching of his brow the only sign he still lives.

Breathing is but a luxury for him.

In the red lit dome, above the sleeping horror at the center of the tower, he meditates. He dwells. He centers himself, for the first time in ages. But then he feels the warmth where there should be none, and opens his eyes. The pale hand touches his chin, tilting his head up to look into the eyes of a woman with red hair.

Red hair which radiates outwards, flowing around her. Pale skin he knows too well. A cut, facet gem of pale yellow on her brow. A smile he sees every time he closes his eyes. She does not move as much as shift, flow around him. An ethereal, dreamlike quality that tells him, "You are not her."

She smiles. When she speaks, it is with the resonant purring that makes his skin crawl. "Oh, I know. I just wanted to see if you'd get aroused before you figured it out." And then her form explodes into a pillar of shadow.

The collectors wake, standing as one around him. He twists to his feet and stands in front of them, letting the shadow coil around them into a ring of absence. The lights fail, plunging the dome into darkness. At least, until the sunfire radiates around him, illuminating him, the shadows, and the woman with obsidian skin and red eyes floating in lotus position in the air before them.

A rat like tail sways beneath her, black robes covered in twinkling starlight surrounding her. And behind her, the shadows rise, forming into a serpent. Two yellow eyes open, and a third eye at the center of its forehead.

"The dragon," Bright Star breathes.

Yellowed, rotting teeth decorate its smile. The Collectors behind Bright Star bristle, enough of a mind granted to them that they can feel hate. "Ah ah! The full title is the Ebon Dragon, Principle of Enlightened Self Interest. I did not work this hard to be simply dismissed as a serpent. Now."

The serpent flows, past the woman, wrapping around Bright Star. "You. You, you you you." An echoing, rattling cough turns into a laugh. "You I have been looking forward to meeting!" The yellow eyes of the dragon meet the blue eyes of the once-Zenith. "So, would you prefer 'Bright Star' or Harbinger?"

The answer comes in the pillar of sunfire that surrounds Bright Star, burning the Dragon and sending it reeling back, making the woman cover her eyes and scream, and illuminating the dome as if the sun itself had risen upon it. A hand lances out and seizes the Dragon by the throat.

Burnt and leaking white puss, one eye burnt out of its socket, the Dragon only continues laughing. "And why?" Bright Star asks, "What am I to you?"

The smile only goes wider. "Proof of concept."


End Chapter 5

 

[GreggHL]

The sunlight beams through the windows of the office, shifting into sunlight. Golden eyes look up and he straightens up, shifting the full measure of his awareness into his more human looking avatar. Stretching his neck, grunting, he idly wonders if he can work with this- this separation and compartmentalization- to make some component souls for himself.

He glances up again, musing on the stars he can see through the newly installed skylight in the domed office. "Saturn, mm? I wonder if Ignis let her win on purpose."

Autochthon, the Great Maker, has been thinking quite a bit lately. Not just on his normal trains of thought- invention, creativity, wonder, and new ideas- but on other things as well. Consequences, responsibility, what not.

The golden lightning streaming from his fingers hums in time with his own tune, a musical piece he picked up from the Normandy. The plate of jade underneath him reacts in time, legs forming and enchantments carving their way across it. To make the owner better rested, to organize papers in their draws.

The light from the gold skinned, lanky and disheveled man provides the brightest illumination. Like his craft, like his calling, it consumes his attention to the point where he does not hear the gears of the walls click or the lights switching on. He does not hear the automated floor or the door close.

It would take a craftsman months to do such things. But he is no craftsman. He is the Craftsman-god-thing. And, since he has taken a shine to the girl, he must make the best desk he can for her. He muses on it, muses some more. Then is broken out of the musing by two arms wrapping around his shoulders from behind and a quite perky chest pressing against his back.

The head rotates completely, looks down, and centers on Noedumari's smiling face. "Please do give me some warning when you do that," he says, smiling nonetheless, and turns his head back around, "I should be done with your desk within the next few days. You can use mine for paperwork while I'm working, of course."

"I'm sorry, but I didn't see any requisition orders for new office furniture."

The moving floor stops, and with a shuffling of long and embroidered skirts, the woman steps off. Tall, as tall as Autochthon's current body, lanky, she folds two arms behind her, two arms in front of her, and the third set of arms move as she walks, swaying from side to side in motion to the steady swinging of her angular, mantis-like face.

Noedumari makes an uncertain squeak, stepping behind Autochthon, then darting over to his desk. Auto himself tilts his head. A brief flicker of his awareness goes into one of his other bodies, checking records and images, before confirming who this is.

"Ah, Lady Ryzala." Shogun of the Department of Celestial Concerns, Lady of Paperwork and Bureaucracy, unofficial head of the Bureau of Heaven. Which his department is a part of. "Ah, my apologies." He extends a hand to the side, and Noedumari slaps down a form into it. Forming a pen in his free hand, he checks boxes, scribbles his assumed name, and hands it over. "I am not requisitioning it as much as using my own resources to create it, so I was uncertain if I should submit this form."

Not a lie, more an invention. In theory, at least.

She takes the form, glances at it, and nods. The corners of her mouth twitch, as if in some sort of hazy memory of how to react, before pulling into the beginnings of a smile. "There may be a more appropriate form," she says, "I will check. A crafter?"

He nods. "My calling. I come highly recommended for this position. Perhaps this department may be expanded." He smiles, part of his mind still checking records. Facts. Interesting reputation, he finds.

She smiles, slightly wider. "Interesting," she says, circling around him, Noedumari giving her a wide berth, "Of course, there would be quite a few forms for you to fill out, too. Especially, since you've just taken over as department head."

He smiles, straightening up. "Happy to fill out any and all paperwork you have. And a few more, if it would make you happy."

She cocks a hairless eyebrow. "I think it might." She folds her third set of arms at her waist. "Perhaps we can talk about this, in private. Perhaps over dinner. I will send a time and date."

"And I will be punctual."

She turns and strides out. He does not hear Noedumari collapse into his chair, nor hear her pull out a paper bag to hyperventilate into. Rather, he looks down, and cocks an eyebrow at the tent that has pitched itself over the front of his pants.

"My. That's never happened before."
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Chapter 6:
Like a Bull in a Spider Web
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-

 

[GreggHL]

Low wet coughs become guffaws, the coils of the shadows wrapping around his shoulders, binding his arms against him. A stream of yellow puss pours out of a bleached patch of brow and fills the empty eye socket. It forms into a sphere, rotating into place, and the cat slit opens on the newly formed eye.

"Oh, you poor, deluded little fuckwit. You even believe you're still a Solar!" The forked tongue runs along Bright Star's jawline, the coils wrapping around him and holding him tight. "I could not ask for more. The arrogance to do it, and the raw stupidity to not realize what you have done!"

Pulling the cracked and bleeding lips into a smile, the Dragon leans forward to blast the bare face of the former Harbinger with steam and snot. "You're not holy. You're not even human. You do nothing more than play at being the man you were, and have even dressed up the toys to play along."

There is a snarl, but not from the dragon. It comes from Bright Star, just before the sun sigil erupts on his brow. With a roar, he thrashes and slams his forehead against the shadow serpent. The coils loosen and he drops to the metal floor, watching the dragon floating back, one hand on its snout and more arms spreading out like an uncurling cuttlefish.

Bright Star grins. "I studied Golden Janissary."

The dragon narrows its eyes. "You cheeky fuck." And then he erupts into flames, screaming and screeching to the sounds of the roaring holy fire.

The obsidian woman watches with a faint smile, red eyes centered on the thrashing, screaming serpent.

It centers three eyes on her, even as the sunfire and light makes its skin crack and slough off. "Kill him!"In response, she calmly raises her right hand, extends her middle finger, and daintily kisses the tip. "You and I are going to have a long talk about appropriate levels of respect when this is over."

And then the serpent explodes. But not into flame, not into smoke. But into a pillar of darkness which smothers the light in the room, drenching the dome in darkness. It warps and curves the metal, drowning out even the pulsing light of the core beneath them. Bright Star averts his gaze, standing between the Collectors and the torrent.

The shadow gathers, sliding off the floor and walls like liquid, flowing upwards like like water, drawn into the center like by a singularity. It forms into a sphere, hanging in the air for a second, and then slams into the ground in front of Bright Star.


It rises, and forms into him. Only a shade darker, a shade more sinister. Black veins run up his neck, shadows curling around him like living tattoos. "Well, as they say, sometimes you just have to beat the respect into people." The Dragon throws back its head, laughs, and then stomps its foot to the floor. Propelled forward, it extends its fingers and goes for Bright Star's eyes.

 

[GreggHL]

It forms, floating between Wuffles' hands. The Geth has returned its number of limbs to standard bipedal, and extends its petal. The shimmering liquid twists, coils, and stretches into its new form, with the starlight of Saturn's sigil shining down on the four.

Standing on the roof of the spire they were in, wind blows gently past them in the flavor of a summer breeze. Helmet held underneath his arm, Kal lets it blow his dreads, watching his friend. "So, quintessence?"

Next to him, May Blossom nods. "It's part of your Salary. I'll explain later."

"Creator Kal"Reegar, we have determined that we can form Quintessence into any object we have the blueprints of. This includes standard weaponry." A pause. Petals extend again. "We have leaned how to craft Quintessence. Making note of this. We stand by our new designation of God of the Geth."

Kal sighs, resting his face in his hands. Liquid becomes metal, covering the exposed circuits and moving parts of the blue and red tube. A handle and a sight form, and the object begins to whirr. Extending their hands, the Geth catches the rocket launcher, and hands it to Kal.

Next to May Blossom, Iron Siaka taps her foot. Leaning over her, she glares at the large, awkward device in Kal's hands. He leads them along, past the gold-rimmed entrance to the stairwell, past raised bumps in the roof, and towards a set of raised bullseyes on the other end of the building.

Winds float past them, puffs of transparent clouds, with one carrying a small cloud of dead insects in it. It pauses, glances at the group, and flies along to follow the other winds.

One hand fits his helmet back on. Yellow eyes track the crosshairs that appear, marveling slightly at how exact Wuffles had made this copy, complete with the software that can link up to his suit. "Wuffles, did you put some Geth in the rocket launcher you made?"

"Yes."

Kal sighs. Had to be expected. Hefting up the rocket launcher to his side, he aims at the center target of the half dozen archery targets. "Ladies! You may want to cover your ears!"

And he presses the trigger. Five minutes later, May Blossom is still stumbling around, hands over his ears and talking louder than she needs to. The targets, themselves, are gone. There is still fire and ash where they once were, and the occasional piece of stuffing or splinter which falls from the sky.

Siaka has not stopped smiling. "Teach me to use that," she finally says.

"WHAT?!" May Blossom yells.

Kal nods, flipping open the panel on the side and turning a dial. The whirring stops, a spent thermal clip falling to the ground. "Deal," he says, "Can I ask for something in return?"

"WHAT?!" Fingers digging into her ears, May Blossom leans against Wuffles. The Geth raises its petals, glancing at the Secrets. Iron Siaka looks Kal up and down.

"Sorry, but you're not my type," the Serenity responds.

Kal shakes his head. He pauses, blinks, and shakes his head again. "Nothing like that. I teach you how to use this," He raises the launcher. "And in return you teach me what I need to know."


Siaka nods. "Deal." She extends a fist. Hefting the launcher under her arm and fist bumps his new Sifu. Which is answered by May Blossom's loud, questioning, "WHAT?!"