The Dead Early Creatures on the walls emanated shocking waves of power, their Complexity and Purity a chilling, silent scream that was at least a few thousand Quadrillion!
These were not The Dead as others knew them. These were The Pri Dead!
The interior of the grand citadel was a symphony of silent, ordered death. Massive, obsidian-white monoliths, each one carved from a single, impossibly large bone, rose everywhere, their surfaces etched with the intricate, geotric patterns of a forgotten, deathly Order.
Mountains of swirling white bones, each one a silent testant to a life extinguished, perated the city and from them, a shocking amount of complexity pulsed.
Towards the center of this impossible city, a Dead Early Creature floated forward, her movents a graceful, silent ballet.
A pristine, white light of Order perated the air around her, a stark, beautiful contrast to the deep, starless black of her hair, which shone resplendent with her own, terrible power!
She was a being of 4 Quintillion in Complexity, a queen in this kingdom of endings.
She nodded with a sharp, intelligent light in her eyes towards the other Dead Early Creatures she passed, each a titan of silent, ordered power!
Her path took her to a new, even more terrifying section of the city, an area filled and surrounded by... Dead Existential Armors.
Dead. Not Living Existential Armors.
They were suits of impossible, terrible beauty, their forms a fusion of polished, obsidian bone and shimring, white-gold light.
They stood as silent, eternal guardians before a massive, monolith-like structure, a huge, white cube that shot up for thousands of miles into the starless sky.
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The Dead Early Creature, without a word, passed through its great white doorways, her form a silent shadow in the brilliant light.
She crossed through its intricate, labyrinthine depths, her path sure and steady, until she arrived at the very heart of the monolith.
Here, more of the Dead Existential Armors stood, their hands clutching massive, spear-like weapons, their silent, helted gazes fixed on a single point at the center of the chamber.
And there, she found the one she had co to seek.
He stood before a great, obsidian forge, a being of such wild, glorious power that his very presence seed to bend the very light of the room.
His white hair danced madly around his head, a storm of pure, untad energy, and his power... his power was a number so vast it was a new language, a new reality.
Ten Quintillion!
HUUM
Quintillion. Quadrillion.
In the grand, terrible mathematics of existence, these were not just numbers; they were distinctions. To have one’s power asured in Quadrillions, even a thousand of them, was to be a being of imnse, but ultimately, comprehensible might.
It ant you had climbed the mountain, but you had not yet seen the sky. It ant you had not yet found your Way of Existence.
But to be a being whose power was described in Quintillions... that was a different thing entirely. It was a demarcation, a sign that the being had not just accumulated power, but had found their Way.
The Dead Early Creature, the woman of 4 Quintillion, had co to this place to pay her respects to another who had found his.
She bowed, a gesture of profound, absolute deference.
The great being at the forge did not turn. He raised a massive, obsidian-white hamr, its head wreathed in the authorities of both Dead Existential Authority and a strange, cold, and absolute Dead Order, and he brought it down upon a new, glorious Dead Existential Armor he was forging.
The sound was a silent, terrible chi that echoed through the very soul of the Citadel!
The woman waited. And then she spoke, her voice a soft, lodic note in the profound silence.
"Forgemaster," she began, her tone a perfect balance of respect and urgency. "This careless Tatiana has learnt late of nearby Tears of The Veil so Gigaparsecs away. And I was wondering if you had any orders."
...!
She wondered if he had any orders.
The Forgemaster continued his work, the rhythmic, silent impacts of his hamr a steady, terrible heartbeat.
When he finally spoke, his voice was not a sound, but a resonance, a vibration in the very fabric of existence. It was a voice that had been silent for eons, and now, it spoke with the weight of all that had passed.
"We received our orders eons ago," he rumbled, his back still to her, "when we were changed and granted this blessing. The order was clear. When The Veil begins to tear, we are to grant salvation to all The Living and turn them to The Dead. To save them from The Fallout. This way, even when The Fallout arrives... they will simply die once and then co back, like the rest of us. Even while dead, they will keep on living."
WAA!
His words were a quiet, terrible revelation, a philosophy of salvation so profound and so horrifying that it defied all known moral fraworks!
"These were the commands and orders that we were given eons ago," he continued, his hamr falling again and again, each blow a final, absolute verdict.
"For we follow the will of THE Dead Order. For we follow the will of THE Creature. We are a part... of their grand Civilizations. So... gather your brothers and sisters, and set off with the initial Legions. The rest of us will soon follow."
...!
Tatiana listened, her crimson eyes blazing with a new, terrible purpose. She bowed again, a deeper, more profound gesture this ti.
"Yes, Forgemaster Vulcan."
BOOM!
Forgemaster Vulcan. An entity that was very much Living in the Earliest Folds eons ago in Aethelgard! And yet now...
Oh!
Just what had happened?!
—
The silence outside The Loom’s Aegis was a profound, suffocating thing.
The once-furious assault of the Living Existences had faltered, their collective will a stunned, disbelieving thing in the face of the impossible blue Sparks that now drifted from the fortress like a gentle, azure snowstorm, and what they represented.
The Early Creature, Osmont!
Was this not the sa being who had attended the Kleos Concordat, an anomaly whose origins no one could discern?
The sa one who had stood with the Resurgence of THE Living Order? The sa one who had appeared in the ruins of Aeternitas Concordia, wielding a terrifying, unseen power to aid in the defense?
A wave of shock and dawning comprehension rippled through the assembled forces.
Among the Living Origins, the clone of Origin Ama Gias stared at the floating Sparks, and her face, a mask of subli, ancient beauty, looked as if she had just swallowed a particularly large, particularly foul piece of shit.
And it was that type of shit that did not even have a single consistency, but different vile types in a single clump!
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