A /vtwbg/ tale by a /meat/Anon

THE DAY THE COSMOS CRY

Remember, They Always Remember

The clouds roll in. The thunders boom. Lightning strike once, twice, thrice across the snowy landscape. The blizzard stops and resumes in rhythms. The mossbacks nowhere to be seen, the bison had since fled the clearings. Patches of snow, mud, and grass litter the surface. Boot prints frozen in shape.

A distant bellow from the heavens. A thunderous cascade.

In a brief passing, the sky turned green, then red, then blue, all in a myriad of colours. An aurora. The beacon of hope in the cold north, or so it was. Until the colours settled on a peculiar tint. Nay, not a tint but a taint. One for the sky and the cosmic backdrop behind it. One not of this world. One not for the fair of mind nor the faint of heart. A colour that only brings madness to those who ponder for too long. A colour that brings with it knowledge that corrupts the mind.

Far, far, beyond the crater that houses the aether citadel of metal, plastic, and glass. Lies a taiga, quiet and empty. Not anymore. For if one could see closer, shapes begin to appear. Slowly, slowly, slowly, making their way between the trees.

They lumber through the snow and mud.
The fuzzy beasts bear their talons.
The deranged shamans carry their staves.
The hungry heretics whet their blades.
...And for the more recent additions to the family, they fiddle the firearms protruding off their broken suits.

Forbidden knowledge. Forbidden faith. Congregating. Materialising.
The eye of the storm buzzes ominously over the wrecked remains of the station.

They hear it. The voices from beyond.
They see it. The images from the heavens.
They know it. The thoughts from the catalog.

They snigger and guffawed. They have not tasted the blood of Holo worshippers since the time of the green one.

A goddess is falling. War is coming.

T-Minus 32 Days

With a shim and a buzz, the suited man shuts down the psychic set. Not willing to negotiate further with the operative on the other side of the reciver, the Sanalite hands over the communicator back to its owner. Disappointed, she place the device back into her sack. The Teocuaqui priestess tried to mediate a possible negotiation but alas, they still do not trust her enough to enact such a wild plan.

With her head still high, Xohildr takes her leave and goes to the one place where she can calm her mind; the medical bay. As she enters, the woman enthusiastically takes in the scent of formalin and formaldehyde. Such a wondrous combination of chemicals. The kind she could not experience back home. A loud thump bellows as she lies face first into the bean bag lying on the room's floor. The spacemen truly has the most amazing commodities.

Taking the tiara looking communicator out and wearing it on her head, Xohildr starts dowsing the immediate Catalog region for any active catalognaut. Specifically those that match her beliefs. Two rings in her head. One from the immediate South and another from the far East. The priestess decides to go for the nearest psyche to the South. Focusing her mind onto the target, she awaits for any response.

"Cualitoa herra systir" the telepathic voice echoes in her mind. "Ayang, cualitoa herra systir" echoes the words of the priestess as she speaks with her mind. Another Teocuaqui catalognaut.

"To whom am I speaking with?" Xohildr asks. The reply came back in a matter of seconds. "Topilljorg. Faithful Skemmdarvargur of the Matiyotl Abbeytoir. Current operation; Surveying the enchanted woods of the Kirin." Xohildr receives glimpses of trees, with men of bark and leaves in-between. "Ayang?" She asks for a reply.

"Xohildr. Tlamacazqui Komma." she said telepathically.

"A priestess? Spreading the true faith far from home I hope so." Topilijorg answers positively.

"Mayhap. The locals are affixed with some of our rites. Some of their people even adopted our vegvisir." Xohildr recalls some of her memories, sharing the experience with Topilijorg.

"Curious people. Descended from the stars, methodically by the book, prone to rivalry I see. What seems to be the issue, young one?" she asks Xohildr.

"To summarise-ish, the locals accidentally caused a diplomatic incident. Something not particularly huge to begin with. A murder. Could be brushed off as a civil crime. Yet the embassy and the government got involved." she thinks while her mouth sighs.

"I see. Surely expecting a war to come out of this is... overblown. Every seasoned diplomat understands that not every diplomatic scandal should end in bloodshed. Unless the authorities condoned it."

"Well... the local authority is currently broken. A state of emergency, and so on. Discord and controlled anarchy seeps in the system. Those who are not supposed to represent do so, and those who are supposed to are preoccupied with maintaining the last sense of order."

"Such chaos..." a short pause between thoughts occur before a reply resumes. "Xohildr... how much of our faith have you shared?" Topilijorg asks.

"So far, only rituals were shared. Spiritually these men are still strong. But I do see an opening in their beliefs. Potentially a loophole in their sacred Grand Directive. What do you suggest?"

"Share the word of The End. Perhaps through organisation, you could help bring order. It may not be a full Chapter. But through stability, it is enough to convince them. If there are many who sees you as the reliable person you are, they will listen to you. The men who now carry our knowledge and vegvisir on their skin, they shall be the first of many."

"Dainty, yet extremely optimistic. I'll see what I can do, and Topilijorg, thank you."

"May the gods help you in your mission, priestess. Farewell, Xohildr. Cualitoa Heill Yectic Teocuacayotl!"

"Ayang, Topilijorg. Cualitoa Heill Yectic Teocuacayotl!"

With a deep breath, Xohildr takes the tiara of her temples. She will have to start with the library. The tattooed Sanalites are usually there. She will have busy days ahead.

That was when the holographic figure of a woman floats into the room, her glowing eyes staring into her.

"So what has the little kitten been doing while nobody is looking, hmmm?" An amused Cassandra projects herself, floating lazily across the room. "I'm giving you about a minute before I drain the air out of this room by the way, cutie." She stops and looks her right in the eyes, smiling innocently.

Somewhere in the Imperial Capital of the Holylife Empire

The oracle ran. He ran as fast as his old legs could. Down the corridors. Quickly! Quickly!!

With a thud he pushes the Luknight guards away from the secured door to His private chambers. The chivalrous men in armor did not resist the spastic actions of the old man. They knew him too well from the decades he served His Majesty. Once the oracle shows extreme distress, you are no longer in any way allowed to question his wisdom. Quickly moving their way out, the guards allowed the oracle in.

The old man kneels before the herculean man, sitting in his chair. Surprised, the GottKaiser puts down the cup he was sipping from. He leans forward and stands up. Ordering the oracle to be at ease.

“My lord... the stars... the stars!” the oracle muttered in fear. Words barely escaping his trembling lips.

“I see. Another goddess is falling soon.” Scratching his chin, the Kaiser turns around, staring into the stained glass window behind him. One depicting the Holo pantheon in all its blessing.

“Which one this time?” the Kaiser asks calmly. They need to prepare. They have lost the homelands of the Fandeads. They will not repeat the same mistake this time.

“One of... the newer pantheons... the Mother of Space, of the Void and the Cosmos.” the oracle recollects his thoughts. Stabilising himself as he stands up.

T-Minus 31 Days

Pudgefort skittered on the floor, its tongue flailing in the winds. Its eyes scanned the room. Not a single person in-sight. Steadily, the little bread dog made its way towards the ventilation grill on the floor.

Two quick barks, one whimper, and another quick bark. The bread dog sat on its rear, awaiting a reply. Ten seconds passed. Twenty. Twenty-five.

Unsatisfied, Pudgefort barked again into the vent. Two-one-one. Again, it waits for a reply.

Soon enough, a loud clank and plinks echoed through the vent. The sounds grew closer and louder with every plink. The ventilation grate slowly opens up. A four-legged automaton made his way into Pudgefort’s view. A wave of his leg, inviting the latter to come inside.

„Where were you?“ RR-9141 asked his yeasty-smelling companion. The two of them skittering through the ventilation shaft, crossing over cables and pipes. The bread dog stared off into the ceiling before replying with a bark.

„That was not the rendezvous site I mentioned. No matter, you were close enough in audible distance.“ RR-9141 came into an intersection. He scanned to his left and right. His sensors detected no movements. The Onobot resumed crawling forward. Pudgefort is not too far behind.

„Did you achieve in getting the keycard?“ RR-9141’s question was met with a reassuring bark. Confidently, Pudgefort coughed up a keycard into its jaw. Displaying it to the automaton before proceeding to swallow it back in.

„Perfect. We’re almost there.“ With the destination closing in, RR-9141 recalls his recent memory.

RR-9141 saw the humanoid hologram arresting the Teocuaqui priestess. He watched as the aliens in suits took her away to their prison cells. Treason was the accusation. For all they know, the security recordings only showed doing nothing suspicious, merely sitting in the laboratory, staring into the distance.

On the immaterial, it was a whole different story.

This piqued RR-9141’s interest. Carefully and barely, following behind the party, out of their peripheral vision.

But not Cassandra’s senses.

“Why are you following her, Bolts?” the holographic woman materialized next to the small robot—suspicion in her transparent eyes.

„Based on her transmission, I feel she might be the only one reasonable enough to want to stop this dilemma you are creating. I am still not a fan of your people going around murdering for such illogical reasoning. If it is humanoid meat, your people are more than welcome to come to eat in my country.“ the Onobot glared at the hologram, remembering the death of the unfortunate furry visitor.

“Look, I have my reasons. And what transmission are you talking about? None of my sensors caught her sending out any message. Are you going rusty, Bolts?” Cass could only look sceptical at RR-9141 at his claim, but the Onobot only shook his head.

„No, not with words spoken, but her thoughts went into the immaterial. That was why I could pick it up. I couldn’t decipher it, but it felt hopeful. It seems she wants to find a more peaceful matter to this all. I want to help her, and maybe she can help me find space with her smarts. Also, my name is not Bolts; it’s R-....“

As RR-9141 tried to finish, he felt an excruciating jolt travelling throughout his systems. Cassandra looked down at him. A flashing jolt from her palm. Sparkling curiosity in her eyes. RR-9141 could not move his limbs. Stunned. His mind computed for any way out of this. He should have predicted this.

“Interesting. Maybe there was more to her than we thought.” Cassandra ordered a guard to pick up the robot. He will have his cell.

RR-9141 felt his consciousness returning. The memory stopped playing in his mind. What happened after that incident was simple. Before the guards could throw him into any containment, the bread dogs came. Dozens of them ran through the halls. A couple grabbed him by his legs, scurrying him away.

Pudgefort was one of them. It was assigned to retrieve the keycard that would free the girl. Whatever plan she had thought up, it was hopeful. He did not want to see a diplomatic scandal unravel before his optics.

The pair reached a grate. They are directly above the security wing. The robot sensed no traces of life in the room below. The coast is clear. Gently, the robot unscrewed the grate open. He was about to pull it up when he felt something pressed against him. The bread dog was lying on his back in excitement.

Unable to balance himself, the pair fell into the shaft through the dislodged grate. The duo dropped onto a shelf before rolling down onto the floor. Not quite an entrance, the Onobot thought. Pudgefort was dazed from the impact, staring off into the lights.

RR-9141 swung around. He could see the jail cell that housed the girl. But she was not alone. Other men and women were inside, sitting on the floor—unsuited Sanalites. Sanalites with Matiyotl vegvisir tattoed on their arms. The girl appeared to be talking to them before she paused and stared at the Onobot.

T-Minus 29 Days