A Bunch Of Irrelevant Shit and the Tumor Too

Thirty-one seconds and counting.

Thirty seconds.

A gargantuan white-and-black bomb, the Tumor, sits in the middle of a small carved-out area, the walls, ceiling, and floor made of red tendrils only known as the Red Miles, interweaving and locking together, twisting and turning. A [singular person](http://i.imgur.com/N73Inj9.png) stands before it, watching, waiting as the timer goes down ever so slowly, ready to make his move.

---

Twenty-nine seconds.

Outer Rim, 8:04 Skaia Time

A giant monstrosity of white looms above the void. It has no body structure comparable to humans, and instead is a giant blobby-looking thing, but with random features from animals squashed together. It has a large beak that looks like it could swallow planets whole, with razor-sharp ridges in the inside edges of the beak. It has about 20 colossal eyes around the beak, all staring forward at one spot, piercing into the soul. Every so often one of them blinks, and the others all flash red. Two colossal tusks extrude from the bottom of the body, and come up on both sides of the "face," outlining it before stopping a few yards above the top with sharp points that look like they could easily impale a moon or two on accident. Tentacles extrude from the rest of the body, which paradoxically seems to be made of those same tentacles coming back to stick to themselves, forming a circular structure. A few don't go back, and wave around wildly, every so often smashing a meteor or sending it flying away. It’s body crackles with dark energy, sparking up and down the rough carapace of the creature before either sinking in or flying away into the darkness.

Before it stands a singular humanoid, facing towards the horrorterror. The person has shimmering silver hair slicked back, and wears a black tuxedo and silver bowtie. Their face is fairly normal in composition, but the skin’s smoother and more uniform than normal skin. Most notably, however, is the sunken sockets where eyes would be. The lack of eyes makes them appear rather glum, but this is contrasted by the huge smirk written all over their face, leading to a conflict of impressions.

In their left hand is a long, curved sabre, steel hissing softly as the perpetually cold blade comes into contact with the warmer air around it. The blade itself is a silvery blue, and the hilt is a dark grey. Sparks of icy energy dance up and down the blade.

In their right, a silvery whip, coiled up tight, runs imprinted along the metallic leather substance, a barbed tip at the end of it, akin to a scorpion’s stinger. Blobs of dark red substance form at the end of the stinger, before dripping off of it onto the meteor below, where it hisses, the rock bubbling before enveloping the liquid into the meteor.

And thus the Retaliator stood on the meteor, staring down the giant monstrosity beyond; looking tiny compared to the eldritch amalgamation at first glance, but the outer god looking tiny in comparison to the Retaliator’s relatively bottomless abyss of power. And so it was not the Retaliator, but the god who was intimidated.

Twenty-eight seconds.

Twenty-seven seconds.

Twenty-six seconds.

---

Twenty-five seconds.

The Rogue of Space stands, twin pistols at ready, facing a large wolf of ragged demeanor and bloodsoaked red fur. Similarly colored corpses litter the ground, the ground soaked thoroughly with the lifeblood of several other wolves. This one in particular was bigger than all the others, and bore a [strange crest](https://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/mspaintadventures/images/b/b5/Blood.png/revision/latest?cb=20120210074647) upon it’s brow, which the Rogue recognizes to be the symbol of Blood.

The Rogue is dressed in a vaguely cowboy-ish outfit, a long, black jacket, with a mint green button-up shirt and dark jeans. On the upper left area of the jacket, right over the heart, is a [symbol that stands for the aspect of Space.](https://orig03.deviantart.net/98b5/f/2013/106/d/a/homestuck_background_space_by_billedcactus-d61z59h.jpg) The shirt color shifts slightly and slowly, going from a mint green to a darker one, back to mint and up to a lighter one, barely enough to be noticable but enough to make you stop and stare for a second before moving on. The bandana around the neck is a simple white one, with several small space symbols lining the border.

The pistols are another beast whatsoever, looking somewhat sci-fi with various buttons and gauges along the side, as well as several decorative black stripes on the white one, and decorative white stripes on the black one. On the left side of both pistols is a name in the inverse color, on the white one *Antaa* and on the black one *Ottaa.*

[|} -> We don’t really have to do this, you know. -(->)](/ac)

[You have come too farr to turrn back now, murrderrerr!](/Blood)

[|} -> So be it. -(->)](/ac)

# [STRIFE!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t-CroatErGM)

The Alpha lunges at the Rogue, claws and teeth slashing and gnashing with blinding speed, only to be met with a reaction of similar speed, a flashstep sideways before a jab to the stomach as the Alpha jumps by, sending the wolf flying sideways, where he swivels, landing on four feet to face the Rogue, who takes the opportunity to back up and flick a switch on *Antaa.*

The Rogue takes this opportunity to go on the offensive, unleashing a flurry of bullets from *Ottaa* and a single one from *Antaa* at the Alpha, which curve erratically, sometimes moving slightly in an odd direction with a flash of green light, causing a hailstorm of bullets that are nigh-unpredictable. The Alpha comes in at a full-on sprint, sliding under a number of bullets before jumping up between two of them, nearly landing a vicious strike on the Rogue if not for his sudden decrease in height heralded by a surge of green light from the space insignia on his jacket; causing him to shrink down before resizing behind the Alpha, firing a quick shot into the back of his torso before the bullet he shot from *Antaa* hits the wall, warping him over there to a safe distance.

There’s a brief moment of reprieve, before the Alpha once more charges, and the Rogue clicks two buttons on *Antaa* and *Ottaa,* elongating them into twin blades, blocking the Alpha’s strike and going in for a counterstrike, which is parried and countered before one’s mind could process the first strike. This flurry of blows goes on for a few seconds, the Rogue shrinking, enlargening, teleporting in an attempt to land a blow on the Alpha, who counters and parries and flashsteps in an attempt to land one on the Rogue. The rhythmic clanging of metal on metal sounds off through the corridors of the abandoned building, echoing throughout it.

After a few seconds, they jump back over to the opposite sides of the room, both suffering from various nicks and cuts, bleeding all over. There’s two loud *bang!*s, before the blood splattered all over the Rogue starts to solidify, turning into a hard crust surrounding his body, stopping movement and rendering him unable to attack. It soon worms its way up the body until stopping at the head; leaving one vulnerable point for a coup de grace.

The Alpha approaches, claw raised to behead the Rogue. The Rogue does not respond with panic, as the Alpha would expect, but he just stares the Alpha down coldly. As the Alpha goes in for the killing blow, the bullet from *Antaa* hits the ground behind the Alpha, warping the Rogue behind him, where he finishes off the Alpha with a slice across the neck, sending the head flying and the body limp to the ground.

Twenty seconds.

---

Nineteen seconds.

The Infiltrator holds the orb of Hope in her hands, internally remarking about how fitting the name was. The orb, after all, with five others, is one of the only Hopes of survival from the Scratch that would inevitably be happening in the future, via wormhole travel. It really does never make sense, she thought, why everything has to be guarded by a billion macguffins of some kind. Surely a combination lock would be enough.

Nonetheless, due to the whims of a cosmic god-narrator, if you will, of some sort, as well as a significantly less god-like dictator, the Infiltrator now holds the orb in her hands. It’s a glossy glass sphere, lit up from inside by a light that is both strong and soft; bright but not blinding; inspiring but not breeding overconfidence. It exudes Hope; as should be expected by an item dubbed the orb of Hope.

Yesterday, she had stolen this from under the noses of a den of white wolves, at the behest of the enigmatic head of the Ubique Alliance, along with five other men staging a distraction. As far as she knew they were all dead.

Needless to say, being a spy has it’s advantages. Those being the fact that you’re much more unlikely to get brutally slaughtered.

Since the theft of the orb, the Alliance had been trying as many ways as possible to crack it open to get at the Hopelight(™) inside; hammering, smashing, cutting, flamethrowering, psionics-ing, forcing it to do paperwork, and just plain out chucking it at things. None of it had worked; or even left a scratch for that matter. It had just proven to be completely unbreakable.

And so it was the Infiltrator’s turn to try to crack it open; releasing a soft light into a harsh, unforgiving world. She would rather not, but orders are orders and blood oaths are as binding as ever.
Regardless, she was obligated to try her best here, so try her best she would. Starting off with a volley of fireballs and a scorching-hot firebreath that melts the orb into the ground below; no effect. A blast of lightning, each more powerful than the last, leaving a dark fog on the glass that quickly blows away.

She follows this up with a flurry of mental strikes, each being enveloped and dissolved by the light, seemingly impervious to any and all of the damage it should have suffered.

And then it reaches out to her, the soft light of hope examining the mind who has so impudently assaulted it, but not angering, for hope is a forgiving power, the soft snow after a fall, rather than the cold impact of concrete.

And it examines her, her thoughts, her desires, her hopes. And it decides that maybe she deserves more than this. And if not for her being bound, it would have considered granting a hope, because orbs are genies and shit. Probably.

But alas, the binding restraints of a blood oath are too tight; the controllers too malicious. And so it withdraws.

*Not yet…*

Seventeen seconds.

---

Sixteen seconds.

Fifteen seconds.

The Seer of Doom stands, scythe raised, facing a similarly red wolf on a long rope bridge, the chasm below filled to the brim with tar, waving, rippling, bubbling sluggishly. A light layer of steam comes off from it, revealing that it is, in fact, extremely warm.

The wolf has two long horns extending from her head, coming to a point to form two extremely long spearlike points, best for skewering your enemies with. A crown of bone, seemingly an extrusion of the skull, extends from the top of her head, a single ruby shoved in the center, gleaming in the light of the fire.

The Seer, on the other hand, wears an ancient pharaoh outfit, headpiece a dark green and black alternating stripes, and the rest of it a faded darkish green. He wears a necklace with an ankh, which has a large crack down the middle, which glows with a dark black energy, tar-like substance dripping from it occasionally.

In his hand he carries a large curved bone scythe, edge caked with dry blood. Spikes run across the handle, and the faint outline of several tiny Doom symbols are visible on the blade, fading in and out of view. The air around it hums with electric tension, sparks crackling in the air.

Above the Queen wolf is a slightly-transparent red string; about as thick as a tree trunk, attached to her body where the heart would be and stretching up through the ceiling to who-knows-where. To any wielder of *Animopeora,* the legendary weapon of LoSaH and extinguisher of souls, this is recognizable as the strand connecting the wolve’s soul to the mortal plane. Normal strength enemies are about a thin string; this one was especially big, as to match the wolves’ tremendous strength. They scale in power; a bugs would be no more than a strand of spider web, a lich queen might be the size of a clenched fist, and Anubis, the Denizen’s, was about the size of a large pillar. So to have one the size of a tree trunk meant that this enemy was especially powerful. Good to know.

The Seer sighs.

[You’re fucked, you know? I’m the Seer of  Doom, and I know these things. It’s pointless to argue, though, since you’re dead either way. Fate demands it and stuff. So, write your will or something. Do wolves have wills? I dunno. Fuck, I’m rambling. Sorry.](/ra)

And without a further word, they charge at each other, weapons/teeth bared.

[STRIFE!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X_n0CKyXa5k)

The Seer drops prone, letting the Queen’s jump sail over his head, before unsheathing his scythe and twirling it behind his back before feinting at the Queen’s chest before deliving a blow to the string of life connected to her, cutting a decently sized indent into it, strands fraying.

*Damn, wasn’t able to take it in one.*

The Queen howls, feeling instinctively the damage to her literal mortal coil, before turning around and snarling at the Seer, keeping her guard up for any further attacks to there. The Seer takes this time to go on the offensive, speeding at the Queen while slashing away with his scythe, cutting off clumps of fur or clanging against metal claws before going for another strike to the coil, which is caught by the crown, the Queen having jumped up to maneuver it out of the way. A small smirk forms over the Queen’s face.

*Only works once, as usual.*

[Knew that wasn’t going to work.](/ra)

The Seer spits two sickles out of his sylladex, snipping the ropes of the bridge and sending it sinking into the boiling tar beneath, the Queen now hanging by her crown on the scythe.

[Not so strong now, are you?](/ra)

The Queen smiles a wide cocky “haha you lose” smile, before the ruby in her crown surges and explodes, sending a tidal wave of blood out of it, knocking the Seer back and letting her surf away. The blood amasses behind her in the form of a giant hand, which swats at the Seer, who bobs and weaves out of the way before going in for another strike, only to have the blood propel the Queen away towards the other bank. It reaches out and forms several small arrows, which barrage the Seer, most dodged but a few unavoidable. After puttiing with with a few seconds of this, the Seer sighs.

[Dammit, I was really hoping to avoid this.](/ra)

He reachs up, and takes his shades off, and-

*asjdkasldjlhguhfdu*

*hdasoudhoaushduowqheuoashnd*

The voices, hardly more than whispers before, escalate into audible shouts, voices conflicting, layering on top of eachother over and over agan. The Seer drops to their knees, barely holding in a scream.

***AJSLAHDJHSASLKJDIOWUOHUEQH***

***ASDHIUOWHOEWHQOUHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE***

They escalate into a high pitched scream, and the popping sound of the Queen’s eardrums giving out, followed by the brain are barely audible over the discombobulated choir of voices, which… stops.

The Seer, having put their shades back on, takes a ragged deep breath, and heads on to the next room in the den.

Eleven seconds.

---

Ten seconds.

The Jackal storms angrily towards LoAaE, green sparks crackling around him as he descends, thunderstorms forming above him. His patience had thinned, and it was clear the troll wasn’t going to be able to collect the codes; so he’d just have to do it himself. Ome, he knew, enjoyed taking a much more manipulative approach to this, making that fire girl make her, and he had tried; he really did. But it’s been so long, and he’s gotten *so fucking bored.* So, to his irritation, he’s doing it himself.

It hadn’t been too hard to find the base; the giant robot shooting meteors from the sky was a pretty good indicator of where the hive was. And as such, he zooms down towards it, eyes widening as the robot turns and fires missiles at him, for being the overconfident underthinking asshole he is, he completely forgot to account for that, running straight into a missile before twisting and turning away from the rest, employing evasive maneuvers before touching ground and picking the shrapnel out of his shirt, wincing. First Guardians may be hardy, but a missile to the face still hurts like fuck.

Now thoroughly pissed off, the Jackal stomps down the streets, blasting a few houses as he goes so he can express himself- his therapist said it was a good idea- before arriving at the hive, eel lusus pressing itself against the tank curiously. That wasn’t what he was here for, though, even though using an eel as a whipkind *was* a particularly interesting concept, if cruel to the eel. The Jackal takes a quick look around, before taking a shovel to a clump of grass at extremely high speeds, digging a hole directly into the secret base below, which he promptly enters through.

He was coming to the base for a very particular reason; to create himself. The previous user of the base, one Failsafe, had created this base for the sole purpose of creating and utilizing the power of a First Guardian, idea inspired in no small part by himself to spur his own creation. First Guardians are weird like that, having to make themselves.

Gliding down the hallways leisurely, ignoring the impudent sprite who *dares* try to chase after such an amazing specimen of god such as he, the Jackal reaches the first code, and inputs GODS. It blinks, before flashing green, and retracting into the ground. Perfect. One down.

Turning while simultaneously pushing the Failsafe out of the way, he heads to the second, before inputting LADY, the one on the human’s music. He never liked humans much; too peaceful, not warlike enough, but they have their uses, he guesses. Such as this. Two down.

The third is not far away, and he enters the final code. OBEY. This one’s good. Obeying is good. This terminal, as well, sinks into the ground, with a satisfying click. Three of three codes in. Time for the final phase.

The walls to the base retract down, revealing a last terminal sandwiched between walls before; open now, showing a single video feed of a snake-like creature with a jackal for a head, holding a giant scythe in his hand. This is recognizable as Anubis, the Denizen of Land of Sand and Hourglasses, and himself. Damn, he was a bastard back in those times. Still a bastard now, but less of one, somewhat.

With a deep breath, he slams his fist down on the big green button on the terminal, and there’s a zap, before the paradox imprint of him appears, and liquefies down, mixing with the codes to make…

There’s a bright green flash, before a platform with a glass tube around it comes up from the ground, a zap of green lightning coming from above to form what looks like a green-glowing puppy, skin completely white. Perfect!

However, he’s only seen for a split second before he’s sucked up the tube, and the entire base flickers before it lights up with a green light, a result of the First Guardian power powering the base.

*Perfect. Now things are going to get fun.*

Eight seconds.

---

Seven seconds.

The Sylph of Time- er, wait, Sylphs of Time, about ten of them, all in varying degrees of being injured-ness- face a large horde of wolves, about twenty in total. Two each. Shouldn’t be too hard.

The wolves, like the others, are also of the Fenri kin, of the blood variety. Unlike the other two, they don’t seem to be especially special, but what they lack in skill and stuff they have in numbers. A good number are scratched up and bleeding from various nicks and cuts, but nothing too serious.

The Sylphs (is that the plural of Sylph? iderk) are adorned in a dark red pinstripe mafia suit-esque outfit, complete with a black bowler hat with the time symbol on it. The black tie seems like it’s made of some weird black metal, and has a small clock on it, ticking slowly.

The revolvers they’re holding are made of similarly black metal with little lines of glass revealing a red liquid pulsing inside. The area where the cylinder would be is instead just two bubbled glass clocks, both reading 12:00. A faint *tick… tick… tick…* can be heard in the background.

In their other hand, they all hold a silvery-gold trumpet, the inside of the horns swirling with a vortex of time energy, the valves glowing brightly. The color of the brass slowly shifts, becoming more reddish over time, and then cooling down to a deep gold, before going back up once more.

[STRIFE!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=juk1uAsoocQ&index=4&list=PL8021A8400E2917D5)

The injured Sylphs don’t bother trying to talk or even stand off, as they’ve seen this before and know what happens. Instead, they form kind of a warhead around the original, before letting bullets fly. A few wolves die from the initial volley, before launching a counterstrike, several injuring some of the ones in the front before getting shot down. Several Iquites temporarily jump ahead in the time stream, or seem to move extra fast at times, the clock on their ties flashing and speeding ahead to match. As the injured ones get more injured, they hang back, letting the older Sylphs handle it, the rain of bullets eventually growing less and less thick until there’s only one left, and about five wolves from the horde. The last Sylph is relatively uninjured, for the time being, while the wolves are a little bit more so.

The match starts with a singular wolf running at the Sylph, stopped by an ultrafast bullet to the face and a quick sidestep, but she’s quickly mobbed by three more wolves, one taking the gun and running while the other two start attacking. A future!Iquite appears, though, and shoots the fucker with the gun before tossing it back to current Iquite, shooting one of the attackers in the process. The second is knocked out with the revolver, before time seems to slow down as the clock on the Sylph’s tie flashes, stepping out of the way right as the final wolf goes to strike the finishing blow, only to be killed by a metal hat through the neck. The Sylph retrieves her hat, before her and all the clones except the most injured one take out their trumpets and time travel back to the start. The last one dusts herself off, before continuing on.

Five seconds.

---

Four seconds.

The Retaliator’s smirk widens, and he starts speaking. It’s a harmonic, melodious voice, like several people speaking at once, tones and pitches layered on top of eachother to create a sound that is both pleasing and unnerving, benevolent but with malevolent undertones. There’s a soft echo, that draws out the darker parts of the speech.

[You know what I’m here for. Are you going to hand it over willingly, or do I have to take it by force?](/ab)

The eldritch abomination blinks before letting out the deafening gurgle that is the language of the elder gods, a deep ear-piercing sound that sounds somewhat like a mix between as shriek and a gurgle. The Retaliator, being versed in Eldritch, as elder gods typically are, translates it roughly to “no fuck you.” Of course, there were pleasantries in there, but the Retaliator doesn’t care much for those, unless it’s him using them, of course.

[Then we fight?](/ab)

The god speaks up once again, affirming this statement. His affirmation is layered with a certain tinge of overconfidence and contempt, loathing simmering under the surface. Nonetheless, he gathers his energy and prepares for strife, the Retaliator holding his sword out in front of him while sending his whip off to the side to do the same.

[STRIFE!](/https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GfuxwAAEi8g)

The strife starts with the god letting loose an earsplitting screech, actually *breaking apart the meteor* with it’s pure power. The Retaliator remains unshaken, simply hopping to the next meteor over, which continues to crack, and continues this process until he finds one stable enough to still be not broken into a billion pieces, before making his counterstrike, leaping towards the god while slashing and stabbing away tentacles, causing them to freeze up before shattering, then pivoting to extrude spikes from his shoes before landing on an eye, quickly backflipping back to the meteor to avoid a hit from a tentacle, grinning madly. He was having *fun.*

The god, semi-enraged at the loss of an eye, tries to hit back with a flurry of attacks, only to have the Retaliator dodge and duck each one, not even moving from his place by more than five steps. Large steps, but five steps all the same. Without even *effort* at all, really.

The meteor starts to crack under the repeated blows, causing the Retaliator to frown, before hopping on one of the tentacles and jumping between them to get back to the main body of the elder god. The sword goes back into the sylladex, the rune-inbued whip coming out to well, uh, whip away at the body, leaving ragged gashes and cuts that bubble and burn at the impact points. The god howls, though the marks should have been, in all rights, insignificant, weapons with properties such as these tend to slice deeper than they appear on creatures such as these, burning not only into the skin but into the mind and soul.

Pleasant thoughts.

Jumping back to a nearby meteor, the Retaliator, instead of standing on this one, leaps off from the opposite side with enormous strength, sending him flying away but the meteor flying at the god; harmlessly swatted away by the tentacles, as well as the next five, until they’re coming too quick to count, some getting through, most getting deflected. Those that get through burn a molten hole through the flesh, sometimes straight through out to the other side, sometimes stopping somewhere in the middle to burn the flesh around it. This process goes on for a little bit; slicing, slashing, whipping, dodging, throwing, repeat, for a little while, before the god is sufficiently blanketed in cuts and bruises enough to worm it’s way deep into the heart; a giant throbbing blob of black flesh, rivers of black oily substance flowing to and from it. The Retaliator feints towards an eye, but pivots and changes direction as to go into the wound, dropping down into the heart before stabbing at it with a flurry of blades, taking a few seconds to dig deep into it before severing a large cross-section of veins; causing the horrorterror outside to seize up and die, white flesh rotting black, and then away, blood flying everywhere, the low gravity carrying it far away. The Retaliator stands with his hand on the heart, eyes closed as he gauges the invisible flow of energy, before using Assimilation to, uh, well, assimilate it, power level slightly increasing with another elder god added to the fray.

*Still not enough.*

Three seconds.

---

Two seconds.

The Page of Mind quickly descends through the stormclouds of LoFaS, the Land of Frustration and Storms, heading down through the constant rainfall and hail of projectiles towards a particular cave opening in the side of a ravine. The all-call had gone out a few hours ago, but better late than never, right?

Well, I guess, that depends on the actual thing that’s late, but the point still stands!

Nevertheless, she quickly locates the ravine, and the cave, glancing around furtively before speeding in over the bloodied corpses of several wolves, taking a few twists and turns until she jumps, hearing something ahead, and ducks behind a corner.

---

The Page of Mind stands before a singular wolf; of the Blood variety, of course, in an aggressive stance. The wolf looks somewhat run-down, like he just barely escaped an encounter with the other three, but he would still be a match for the Page; for she had not bothered collecting her legendary weapon/legendary armor, or even bothered to complete her land quest, rather opting to just breeze through the game while grimdark. As such, she looks at the wolf hesitantly, as if hoping it’ll turn tail and run away. The wolf takes this opportunity, and comes at her, claws bared and teeth gnashing, barely dodged time after time. Seconds pass, both parties frustrated at their inability to hit eachother, the Page focusing mostly on dodging and occasionally parrying, and the wolf taking a much more aggressive pose, the fighting moving up and down the corridor and eventually into the room beyond, where the Page backs up against a wall, and starts, realizing she has nowhere to go. The wolf, eyes wild with bloodlust, lunges at the Page.

His claws rake down the Page’s chest, puncturing the spot where the heart would be, but the Page catches him just the same. The area his claws passed through is just… gone now, like the dispelling of an illusion.

[Wow, you would have got me there. Not bad.](/bb)

And then the Page takes out a small remote with a button from her pocket; an arrow trigger, and presses it, causing the tens of arrow traps hidden nearby to fire off quarrel after quarrel in that general direction, shredding the Illusion!Kate and puncturing the throat of the wolf, who slides to the ground. The *actual* Page steps out from behind the corner, and continues on.

---

The Page, Seer, Rogue, and Sylph meet up in one central room, filled with a large pile of grist. They greet eachother, with some sideways glances directed at the Page, before collecting the pile of grist. But it’s not the grist that they’re there for; it’s the item at the bottom of the pile, a dark red orb that swirls and spins like filled with blood, condensation forming on the glass. This is the Orb of Blood, one of the six ~~MacGuffins~~ keys required to open the wormhole out.

...whoever designed that gate was a fucking idiot.

Nonetheless, they take the orb, before taking their leave. One down, five to go.

---

One second left.

The Sylphs of Breath wait in front of the Tumour, watching as it’s countdown reaches it’s final ticks.

The clock ticks down, ever so slowly, to the last number.

They tense up, getting ready to spring. This can’t be timed carefully enough. At the cost of death.

Zero seconds remaining.

The Sylphs quickly vanish with a pop! sound, turning into two gusts of wind temporarily, as such making them nigh untouchable. An earsplitting crack and boom sound come from the Tumour as the edges of it start to crack and crumble away, both halves falling down to reveal a blinding light inside; a giant star in the sky from everyone else’s points of view, shining like it’s trying to compensate for something even more than Gemnus is. It shines even brighter for a second, before dimming a bit, with a similar boom as the entire area inside the Tumour gets filled with air, like intergalactic thunder or something, idrk. As it fades more and more, you’re able to see what looks vaguely like a humanoid shape inside, with spotlights for eyes (in a metaphorical sense, having actual spotlights for eyes would be weird as fuck. Like, would you just be able to see pure light the entire time? Would you just go blind? Thus are the mysteries of spotlighteyes)

ANYWAY, the humanoid has intense light coming out of their eyes. They’re an indeterminate gender, and what looks like a sun insignia on her forehead, as well as pure golden skin. They’re not tall; maybe as tall as Lavira, but not as tall as you, and look similarly aged. However, you only get a quick glimpse of them before the red tendrils of Resurrection snatch the remains of the Tumour, as well as the glowing person up, and absorb her into the giant swirling mass as the limp body of the Black Queen falls towards the ground of the battlefield, seemingly unpossessed now.

With Day, a new dawn begins.
---

Happy six months, Scratchstuck!