003.۞ Text ; A whisper in the dark

[setmatch]

It is the end. They have come down through the gloaming from the stars. Now all is over, and beyond the Arinurian streams we shall dwell blissfully in Teloe.

Chaos is the law of nature.

No chaos, no creation.

I am become death, destroyer of worlds.

I am darkness. I am chaos.

I am coming.

Comments

[notgood]

What the fuck are you doing?

[setmatch]

Announcing my arrival.

[notgood]

Your arrival to insanity? Come on.

[setmatch]

My arrival to divinity.
I am Apep.

[notgood]

[He sends a screenshot from his communicator where this whole post is written by "David A. Klein."]

Stop fucking around, David. No one's laughing.

[setmatch]

David is dead.
The serpent wears his crown.

[notgood]

[This...

This isn't good, at all. Is this really Apep, possessing David's body? Or... something else?

Maybe... maybe he can play along?]

Right. Of course.

You need ... help. Don't you? Assistance?

[setmatch]

Yes.
Are you offering, Lokison?

[notgood]

Only if you don't call me that.

[pummelgranite]

[ u h ]

Friend of yours?

[notgood]

In a sense.

[pummelgranite]

Is that sense, "I'd really rather not have this dickhead full of crazy ranting about darkness?"

[notgood]

He's not normally like this. Something's wrong.

hmm this is suddenly private

[pummelgranite]

[ hmm hmmmm how to put this delicately ]

Uh huh. Way wrong.
Do you know Woden?

how strange!!! also private

[notgood]

I know of him. I haven't spoken to him. Thor thinks he's not the actual Odin, and I'm inclined to agree.

You think this is related?

[pummelgranite]

"Real" is complicated where we're from.
Probably.
So: ARE you and David friends?

[notgood]

Yes.

[pummelgranite]

[ Well, shit. She's met this guy all of never. She might have trolled him when he first showed up? But whatever. He's a part of their little drama now. ]

We should talk.

[notgood]

What are we doing right now if not talking?

[He deletes that, this isn't a time for snarkiness.]

Can you help him?

[pummelgranite]

Dunno. But at least I know what's wrong.

VOICE

[pummelgranite]

Actually, we can just do it this way.

Are you sitting down?

[notgood]

Y-

[No, he's not. Okay, actually sitting down now.]

Yes?

[pummelgranite]

Cool, don't freak out.

[ And then she starts singing, which is immediately jarring because the sound quality is way too good for a VOIP call, and then it keeps being jarring because tentacles of darkness squirm out of his phone screen, binding his head to his phone to his hand. ]

[notgood]

[He freaks out, but fortunately the tentacles move faster than he can, keeping his phone to his head as he listens to her song. This is significantly worse than the one time he did LSD.]

[pummelgranite]

[ Well fine whatever. He doesn't freak long before the darkness overwhelms his senses, his own thoughts, his mind entirely.

And this is how it is:

Once every 90 years, twelve gods incarnate on Earth. They are loved. They are hated. They are brilliant. And within two years, all of them are _____.

And the worst of the twelve is Woden, Sky King. He plays the victim and grouses at the nature of his miracles, but his power is the most dangerous of all- no true Song of his own, but the ability to recreate the others. And he's used that ability shamelessly, recklessly, mercilessly.

Once it was used to take advantage of women. His "valkyrie," were all picked to suit his fetish and he was never coy in what he wanted from them in return for power.

Brunhilde looks nervous as she sits in the booth at the pub, describes the debasement he puts the valkyrie through, then enraged as she sees the camera rolling.

Brunhilde looks tired at the con panel where that same story is the last thing she has to offer her once-adoring fans.

Brunhilde swallows her shame as she recants to Woden for the promise of just one more hit of what he's selling.

Brunhilde's rage and helplessness when that promise is broken.

There is the click of fingers and then the sound of Brunhilde's bones snapping.

Time lurches, and they swap planets.

You are in a club in De Chima. You are trying to talk Woden out of this mind control make-new-gods bullshit. Nobody needs to get hurt. But you aren't having much luck, he doesn't want to listen, so you excuse yourself.

You've just finished washing your hands, when you notice something about the song has changed, some frantic back-beat that you're sure you would have noticed before, right? Apprehension bubbles in your chest, soon to heat into a rolling boil of panic.

Your hands clutch the sides of the bathroom sink and you try to meter your breathing. You need to calm down. You need to put your head back on straight. You need to to kill Woden. You need to get out of here. You need to call a friend. You need to sink your teeth into flesh. You need the hot sweet splash of blood in your mouth. You need to swallow the sun and tear the Sky King from his throne you need to kill you need to kill you need to kill-

The Fenrir Wolf, or some vague approximation thereof howls as it smashes its way out of the ladies room and onto the dance floor. That's when the screaming really starts.

The song ends, the dark tendrils were illusion, Chauncey's mind is free.

Once more, we return. ]