Nechronica - Zeomachina intro

It is undeniable.
It is real.
The God that disproves Gods.
The Earthbound King to the Chimera Queen.
The Alpha to her Omega.
The End to her Beginning.
The Manifest rule of a future that cannot be changed.

It is both Kingdom and Crown. For the entire landmass in the vast distance -is- this being as is the whirling heavens above that rule the land below.  An endless, infinite torrent of armoured scales so breathtakingly crafted it would be an affront to describe each and every one as 'art'. Gears whirl and turn in six dimensions and in six dimensions, the constant pounding of their spinning and the whirling engines beyond them are visible within great patches that are clear of those ornate scales and slabs of armour made art. From within those cracks too deliberate to be damage, flood entire rivers of prayers written in time and fire that creep up that powerful and masculine torso before flying free as angels, serpents, cherubs and beasts with wings of fire that soar and tumble down the endless perfect mirror of it's horizon breaching wings. Within those wings is a window. A window to a world that should not exist. The Dragon God has no legs, for what true God would walk upon the mortal earth? None the less, the very world trembles as it passes through the skies. It is hard to not notice that everything below it that cannot flee in terror, has wilted into the ground. Plants. Trees. Even rubble and rocks. Water and clouds have dipped low as if trying to hide their hopes and heads in the sand, lest they offend their Omnipotent King.

The great tail cannot be seen, for it is literally beyond the horizon. All up it's length wink and flash hazard lights. Perhaps a throwback to a previous incarnation, or a simple courtesy to other fliers. It is hard to imagine anyone else who would dare take to the skies while the ruler of Heaven is within them. Powerful, muscular arms. Two sets of three fan out from that heroic torso. Within one great fist  a scepter is clasped. Endless 1's and 0's whirl around it's crystal-like form before imploding within the great glowing light at it's tip and scattering forth great waves of colour over the world below.  Within the other fist is clasped the sword of the king. A pommel the size of a battleship, yet the blade itself is nothing less than absolute distortion. One black hole atop another to become nothing more than a point of absolute zero. The blade of blackness warps the eye just by looking upon it, yet the king seems unfazed by it's weapon. The next set of arms are crossed over it's chest, clutching close a strange globe. A shape of blue seas and green lands, blessed by gentle white clouds, safe within those enormous talons. Finally, the last set of arms are free of holding such divine relics. One enormous palm is pointing to the ground, casting a shadow the size of the Drop Zone across the world below. The other is reaching forwards, upwards, as if trying to grasp one of those distant points of light that dot the black map of infinite space itself.

Upon it's collarbone are four mountain-sized heads. One of a woman wearing an expression of sorrow. One of a bearded, weary man. One of a younger man with an almost cherub like face and finally one of a snarling man. Dull, hellish embers glow within these heads, thankfully appearing to be nothing more than decorations. One hopes.

Finally is that head. The reptillian sneer of cold command. Enormous jaws that could crack a world. Teeth that are slick with the constant torrent of blood and oil. Smoke pours constantly from between those perfect ship-sized blades as the great fire within smoulders all.  Beyond those draconic jaws is a noble, human-like brow capped with three eyes. One eye is the soft glow of moonlight. Another eye is the bright, but small prick of starlight. The final eye is the searing white of sunlight. Of course a king has a crown. Perched between several enormous swept back horns of power absolute is the symbol of such. An impossible labyrinth of gold, silver and platinum with endlessly shifting gears, wheels and plates, almost as if mirroring the thoughts of the God itself. Finally, above the crown are but three great halos that set the entire sky alight with their fire. One of brazen red fire. One of searing green plasma and one of crackling blue lightning. All of the heavens around Zeomachina seem to burn and explode in slow motion, falling, twirling stars set alight and pulled along with the one who would rule all the world but one.

Is it you?