Unto Corruption

[The_Godslayer]

System: ▓▝▝▝ UNKNOWN SIGMA SYSTEM ▓ ▓ ▓
Location: - tt-rr-321561--▝▁ ▁ ▁ ▁▝ UNKNOWN PLANETOID SURFACE

▁ ▁ ▁ ▁ - lb - 88 - 14 - 7C - 04 - ▁ ▁ ▁ ▁

Madmen often make great steps through atrocities. After all, blood is a beautiful crimson to paint a masterpiece in.

The Gardener had invested his time well. His attempt to create and then imprison a Da'am K'Vosh mind had fallen flat. He had something akin to a biological Gammu AI trapped inside, as helpful as it was inhibiting. An annoyance, that green energy. As a fuel source, it was unruly and chaotic. Incredible power that came with incredible damage. As an insight into the creators, it was silent and spiteful. It knew that no information was worse than bad information, and displayed that at every chance it got. The silent treatment.

His time on Caliban's ship as a willing prisoner of sorts was cut short, too. A thermonuclear warhead as a main component of the ship, designed to erase problems and evidence all in one go. He could no longer guide Caliban to wage a war of ideals with Sh'ozak, to challenge the idea of the Dark with the idea of the Deep. To prove the Deep's existence. But, that was accounted for. There were other methods to show Sh'ozak that Darkness was not her enemy, but the Deep. The very nature of Humanity, infectious and virulent, would make it's way into other sources. The Technocracy, the Outcasts, even the Vagrants would prove to her that she was alone, that the Light was alone in this struggle. And with that loneliness, they would take extreme measures. In isolation, in a closed system, they would ferment. As a closed loop of Darkness brought about the Deep, so would a closed loop of Light bring about the Shining.

His plan was well underway. It may have even been unstoppable at this point. Yet, "While ahead, strive to become more ahead" was a maxim that the Gardener's mentor had burned into his flesh in a most physical way. Winning in just this moment wasn't enough. He would bring about the reshaping of the universe. He would build a god that would destroy all that was filth, and create all that was good. Eternal perfection from the complete unity of Humanity, Slomon K'Hara, and Da'am K'Vosh, with power over reality itself. It was necessary to stretch this plan into eternity, and his time as Caliban's prisoner had clued him in on how to achieve that.

Caliban had a parasite. It festered in his mind, a creation of an old mind of K'Hara. Tainted with a force that hunted by memetic scent. But it had one of it's own. The Gardener sat in his Garden, a seemingly endless expanse of red flowers, each the extracted, confined, and purified soul of a human with less fortune than the rest of their race. The green energy of the false Da'am K'Vosh was slowly and silently consumed by a new color. A black fog that wafted and dripped from his body. The taint of the Sentinels made manifest, a corrosive mist that he was slowly becoming. It had been a slow, torturous process to learn how to retain his will as he changed his shape, but he had succeeded. And he was finally close to the state that K'Hara considered godhood: to become so synonymous with an idea that one becomes that idea, and one exists wherever that idea is present.

The Gardener would be no god of trickery, however. He desired to become a target. Something to embody everything that Sh'ozak must fight against. Something that she must stamp out from the universe in order to kill him, the greatest of thorns in her side.

Corruption. The god of Corruption. The bending of will made manifest. The abandoning of reason and tradition given form. The questioning of values and morals become shape. He who takes in secret. The god of sacrilege. And his worship would be rebellion, which humanity was so fond of. Each rebellion would give him strength. Every dissonance would give him form.

Black fog bled from new cracks in his shell, pooling on the ground beneath him. He had a limited time to spread this poison. But he had no cause for concern. In his hands, he grasped the threads of possible futures, of quantum realities that could not come to pass. Of wishes ungranted. Of wishes granted. Of the sweet flesh of reality that he could dine on. To buy himself more time. To change what must come to pass.

First, he ate of the Core wielding their AI slaves to dominate the Omicrons. It had not come to pass. Rebellion, dissonance, corruption had stopped them. Their future was sealed, and Mighty Icarus flew too close to the sun. He ate heartily, a dead reality sacrificed as supplication. Next, he bit into Ägypta clinging to an alliance they do not deserve. Though his teeth sank, no piece was removed. Had the Barbarians sacrificed their artifact trade? Had Ägypta given up their control willingly? He could not tell, so he saved that false reality for later. He bit into the war of the Barbarians and Hospitallers, finding it's flesh stale. There was nothing to gain from what already was. Yet it was a part of his prophecy all the same. Finally, he bit into the suffering of the Pilgrims. He tasted abandonment. He tasted betrayal. He ate well. Reality was the sweetest meat.

In his consumption of quantum realities that failed to be, he gained power. Not much, not even a fraction required to make him equal to an Elder, let alone an Advisor or a god, but enough to feed this corruption that he was becoming. Enough to further his change. Enough to fuel this future that he was driving all sentient beings, all Observers, all collapsars of superpositions towards. His transformation would be the heresy that Sh'ozak must fight. By embodying corruption, he would give her the clearest target. And by embodying corruption, he would have a shape that could infest all that she should target. All that she must target.

The Gardener could not shape the universe. He was far too weak. But, he knew that he could shape the one who would shape the universe. And in that he found purpose. He would form the mold by which the universe would be shaped. In doing this, he would undo the great injustices that this reality had done. By his corruption, vindication would be met. Vengeance would be had.

The Universe would be made how it was supposed to be. Without suffering. Without injustice. Without the Deep. Without Corruption. Without him.

Without any will but the Light.

▝▝▝▁ ▓▓▓▓▓

.͈̤̺̼ͣͭ͞҉̘̀ͫ̉.͎̬ͦ̔ͧ̍̾̃̍̇ͣ͝.͕̺̰̘ͧ̏ͥͬ̃.̪͙͕.͏̖͉.̴̯̤̭̟̍ͣ̄.̩̩͖͙̻͓̞̏ͨ̈́͋͒͂͆̃͛͛͟.̙̭̳́̂ͤ̀͘.̲͇̹ͩ̾̆ͨ̀ͫ͘͞.̘͕̮̟̉ͯ̃̒ͮͩ̂͘̚͜.ͅ҉͗.̵̣͕̄.̷̶̩̰̮͖̹̍ͮ̅ͨͤ́̉̎̇ͨ̍.̵̡̦̓̉ͬͅ.̸̬̞͋͂͑ͭͤ̑.̱̉͟.͏̛̳̺̟.̷̝ͩ͛.̜͍̏̒͌͗͢.̪̠̙̩̥̟͑ͬ̑̀́ͭ̾̀--+̸̸̴̣̠̠͍̦̫͂̓͗̐ͨͭ͘+̴̧̻̰̦̯́͊͒͗͌̐ͥͩ̐ͭ̔͟͞+̜̻͙̪̞ͥ̓ͯ̇̀͜͡͝͞+̫+͚̟̝͔̠̙̗̤͛̅̉̿͒̓ͬ͊́̚-̵̘̳̻̫̜̆ͥͯ̏͆̍͝͏̓-͕̰ͬ͂͛-̸̧̯̮̣̙͒ͣͧ̀͗҉̷͉̳̀ͣ̂ͪ͠-҉͓-̮̩̰̪͙̹̇ͪ̆̄͂̈ͧ́́̐́͘--▄▀▀▀

---

I'll do something about my superiority complex when I cease to be superior.

"Whatever happened to catchin' a good old-fashioned passionate ass-whoopin and gettin' your shoes, coat, and your hat tooken?"