>>96160379
"Anything? Then record each and everything your kind converse amongst yourselves, and broadcast it to whichever Emissary deigns to waste their time with you in the future"

And as insurance, the Weaver binds Solar with Strand into a series of artificial suns tethered to Uranus' orbit. At the slightest twitch, they can be made to collide with each other-making the planet very bright, for a very brief amount of time. VII of Nine sobs in pathetic relief as it's sibling balks at our coming.

Neptune.

The next of the entities tries to hide it's thoughts rather than make any kind of plea. Covetousness towards the Veil concealed by whipping winds. Cynical looting of the battle-fallen hidden in deepest blue. cooperation = reconsidered = offered, it conveys unconvincingly.

"Surely a being of your intellect" I tell it with biting scorn, "knows better than to cooperate with a demonstrably hostile power"

Extrasolar threats = always present, it says desperately. I could be = your lookout = sensor platform = watchdog.

"Then I will ensure you are fit for purpose" I promise. And for a moment, VIII of Nine thinks it is getting off scott free. And then I turn upon it again. "Sculptress. Oracle. A". Uranus' rotation comes to a halt, it's atmosphere freezes further, it's substance crystalises. It's tethered puppeteer looks on in mounting concern the entire gas giant is frozen into a single lump of cosmic ice. The effect is not unlike an icecream headache for the writhing mass attached to it.

And then, we all give VI of Nine our undivided attention.

The Nine collectively beg for mercy.
The Vanguard look on in stark confusion.
"Fetch, girls" I order.
And my children lunge at Saturn like starving dogs striking a pig.

The Sculptress smashes it's rings and reforges them with Sword Logic, striking the planet with them.
The Weaver whips celestial winds into disarray.
The Oracle strikes hundreds of dark matter limbs directly, amputating VI.

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