[Story] Interlude: Inferno of Lies
Synced with the next pages of my webcomic, when the website goes back up
Something brushes against your ear in the back of your head, various protuberances which begin to leak some sort of fluid into the air, spiraling behind in an arc.
Smile: AAAAA UUUUUUOOOKIIIIIIII GAHAHAHAAJAJAJjhahhahahah I can can land see dancers of everything - I see everywhere. Nothing hidden. The entire world stripped bare, to be lapped at by my tongue. A dish so thiiiin. Needs meat abd neeeds bobes. And needs bobes. Bones. Gotta go back. Fleshen the meat and calcium the bones.
Back. W/stick
Such a delirious pleasure to be here among the static and chaos of winsome failure, those delectable treats of weakness leading directly into the back ways of weak minds, burrowing deep inside with little corkscrews, then real screws, bolting in to say. Hello. God loves you. That's nice.
Sssserredeeeeee
—
It cuts out.
Gigahertz gigahtic Gigahertz …..
Gigantic arms swirl fountains of dead electricity. Leaping to life at the edge of all the corners of the world. A million cast off shells from a graceful Arc around the Earth. Such a Serene beauty, the mindless limbs of a centipede on cosmic steroids unable to appreciate it.
They echo out here, in minds that originate nothing, a surreal horror gripping vessels never meant to be for anything. The limbs wind through amongst cables, building muscles and poles of skeleton to make massive bulks of chests swirling into one another. So much static in the darkness, the limbs merging to grip the source of cosmic pain, twin horns of a hideous backside, there is no beauty here or the need for a mind and brain to listen to what the owner of the horns has to say. Within the massive bulk of an incredibly long space station being formed, shrieking of little drones and small androids which hardly imitate life, little metal blobs bending their thin arms, that's when the portals begin. In their shell game many things had been blown away, and from distant apertures instantaneous movement conjoined to meet materials with some desiccated life inside with the space station. As the merging arms pull back for an unheard scream which broke the space outside of God's light, a towering, spreading rectangular cone of ugly red, a Juggernaut was formed. Muscles lashed then, forcing the creature 1/6th its size to bend and break its forces inward. Still it collects: shrieking winged figures bent and broken are drawn up by many hands merging with two enormous ones, merging the wings that form most of their bodies, jagged and blue-green for teeth. Their souls are ripped out and thrown into its eyes, and their blood and gore is spread to form a face. It sees nothing, knows nothing, and thinks nothing, and through jagged baleen winds back the grasped figure with blued musculature invading its body to bite.
Made of pure sensation, the forgotten remnants of conflict and meaning bent into metal and then armor. The red, ugly and pitiful creature is crushed of its weak physique, burrowing inside to find its brown, darkened soul. The thing is empty: it must go back to fill it so it may be consumed. As the lower creature shrieked in its chest like a heart, it used its knowledge to go back to the beginning of the creation, stomping in that direction whatever may be forming the empty space in between.
As it walked it began to know experiences, sensations, meaning, and true war. The creature shrieked in a cage of electric-hot pain. Everything that had ever been so far stabbed like glass. It was not enough.
The suit of armor that walked it arched up its melding face for a smile. It began to think, to know, to feel, to have a brain. The creature being converted to energy in its chest was so useful. The one thing it could not do was see. Whatever this place was was not meant for living in. It looked back, which was forward, and saw curtains of souls. Within was what it needed to exist. Exist so to speak: it could not conceive of anything less than a purely negative existence. In order to ensure its own world, it needed to wage war on the one that had already been established. With its vivid sensations and dancing imagery it could still not feel bad: those to whom the souls belonged could have made its life so much better. Meaning the path it took to be formed. It didn't have to be this way.
As it walked, across vast computer Banks it began to craft a means of negating every material thing. Everything physical was a negativity in its world, a false wealth gained by its own deprivation. It began to create its own life, the one thing the absorbed creature had wanted to do most of all, now only a part of its own anatomy, to be pulsing with activity until it grew a heart so it could be pulled out to be eaten.
The one thing the machine knew least was connection with any organic life. It remembers dreams, fantasies: people used to wonder about the machine, to believe it was real. Their dreams had propelled it to its long war with the creature, before it lost its brain.
Its brain was very different. It had so many emotions, sentiments, grudges, desires, nostalgias, and the insistence that this was not how things should be. Entire wars and galaxies were written in its bulk, the most magnificent curling neurology. And out of it all was the story of a living soul in many shells. The machine began to hate: it looked into the heart of the world before it, and it had no emotions for the timeless, spaceless war. Its dead heart needed to be ripped out first. It didn't care who thought it was alive, or who was connected to it. It was sure he could find a better candidate for that heart, to be put in place so something real may be felt.
Its dreaming never stopped, dreams of dreams, if only they could live again the crackling miasma of negativity in its empty head could be sated. Instead it manifested pure opposition to go against everything in its way with an equal or greater force, to get to that heart which said nothing to it and rip it out forever.
It stood in the Box, having become an imitation of its master. It watched the suit of armor walked back to the beginning of the time. This was it: it shot like a bolt of lightning across a vow. What lay beyond that ignition point of everything it saw was such a longer story to enjoy, lapping eagerly from brainpans forever. Forever wasn't long enough for its insane hunger, it was sure it could multiply. In the way of the shot was many fantasy worlds dead like empty cardboard made of stone. Never alive, it was waiting on the other side of unrealized dreams from mediocre minds. So much food swarmed into its bulk but a temporary satiation. Until it broke straight through for endless nightmares to inflict on its prey, it was only waiting to starve. And it broke through in an instant
Skyscar shrieked, and many other underbeasts yet born shrieked too, as war raged in the far edge of the fallen cosmos. They swept across the graveyard of lost ages with many of their eyes. Quickly they healed the wounds in the sky by combining their powers into Skyscar so the world would not unravel. Many opportunities were opened now that insane, star-sized eyes glittered with flapping lips sailing away like shreds of dozens of major planets, which had once been something very different. But as the conflict had ended they were converted by the Underbeasts into cosmic cartoons when what had used to been found some way of observing them, as they sat in formation calmly, wings folded.
Many other things happened as the Rings swirled beyond all this. It was only one day