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6/29/2025, 1:29:59 AM
>>95974164
It is where. It is when. An elegant and mad Timeship model is taking tea with me. I am always happy to acquire new monstergirl specimens. She proposes she devours the Eleven-Day Empire to start forming an army that can devour the petty castaways and celebrities and so on and so forth. I counter with the issue that several of the so-called Loa worshipped by them are in fact comrades or offspring of mine, and prepare a counteroffer: I will re-translate the Celestis' parasitic dimension back into realspace, and give it to her. She accepts. Of course she does. My daughter's blood runs in her circuitry.
Click.
It is somewhere else. It is somewhen else. A timeship named Compassion asks for amnesty from the war on behalf of the many races she has spared from it's ravages. I accept. Why would I not? I am One and I must be One to win this war, but she and hers will be permitted to be divided from Oneness.
Click.
It is always. It is never. The Time Lords are growing desperate after finding the War King's half-Cyberman'd head floating in orbit with the message "we are still not amused" tacked to it. They have petitioned the Osirans for an intervention. The Osirans' reply is curt: They have more important things to do like culling the drastic swell in the Pantheon of Discord's population in the future than to deal with such petty squabbles. In despair, the Time Lords free Sutekh and his sister. Together they slaughter almost all known entities affiliated with the Enemy, as well as much of the Great Houses' assets.
Click.
It is now.
A maw larger than star systems closes on Sutekh and Nephthys. The Sixfold Metaspiral of the Yssgaroth, my daughter's grand and terrible Swimmer-gestalt, is heralded by a terrible fleet of Nightmare Children, their triumphant mother at the head of the swarm. Far worse than even that, there are Moments reconstructed from Shobogan biodata that too bear the vampiric essence of my laughing child.
2/3
It is where. It is when. An elegant and mad Timeship model is taking tea with me. I am always happy to acquire new monstergirl specimens. She proposes she devours the Eleven-Day Empire to start forming an army that can devour the petty castaways and celebrities and so on and so forth. I counter with the issue that several of the so-called Loa worshipped by them are in fact comrades or offspring of mine, and prepare a counteroffer: I will re-translate the Celestis' parasitic dimension back into realspace, and give it to her. She accepts. Of course she does. My daughter's blood runs in her circuitry.
Click.
It is somewhere else. It is somewhen else. A timeship named Compassion asks for amnesty from the war on behalf of the many races she has spared from it's ravages. I accept. Why would I not? I am One and I must be One to win this war, but she and hers will be permitted to be divided from Oneness.
Click.
It is always. It is never. The Time Lords are growing desperate after finding the War King's half-Cyberman'd head floating in orbit with the message "we are still not amused" tacked to it. They have petitioned the Osirans for an intervention. The Osirans' reply is curt: They have more important things to do like culling the drastic swell in the Pantheon of Discord's population in the future than to deal with such petty squabbles. In despair, the Time Lords free Sutekh and his sister. Together they slaughter almost all known entities affiliated with the Enemy, as well as much of the Great Houses' assets.
Click.
It is now.
A maw larger than star systems closes on Sutekh and Nephthys. The Sixfold Metaspiral of the Yssgaroth, my daughter's grand and terrible Swimmer-gestalt, is heralded by a terrible fleet of Nightmare Children, their triumphant mother at the head of the swarm. Far worse than even that, there are Moments reconstructed from Shobogan biodata that too bear the vampiric essence of my laughing child.
2/3
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