[Epoch of Madness, War Council of the Seventeen Suns]
The fall of Justice was an unforeseen turn of events. With her loss, we had lost one of our greatest Champions. Perhaps it could have been understood had they paid a similar price for her death. But the suddenness of her disappearance was the most shocking elent. It was as if she had simply fallen through the cracks of existence, never to be seen again.
So held out hope that she may return, glorious in nature, from a strange zone that prevented all contact. The terrible weapons and Authorities unleashed in this conflict had scarred existence so thoroughly that strange mutations unseen even to the oldest few were now rampant. Healing would take aeons, though to heal they must first survive.
That is to say, entering one such zone of a particularly malevolent mutation of Authority could easily have cut off contact with Justice. But, even if that were the case, to cause her fall would take several of their champions to orchestrate. Unless 'He' stepped in. Of course, 'He' could hardly do so at the current mont. As such, we held out hope, redoubling our defenses and instilling vigor into our attacks.
Until, one particularly vicious day, we received a small package. Removing the wrapping of rough cloth revealed a block of obsidian crystal.
The crystal was translucent and, encased within, was the severed head of Justice. Her blindfold was gone revealing empty sockets, her facial features stuck in an expression of horror.
It was as if, even with her unseeing gaze, she had witnessed sothing. Looking closer, a pattern seed to be burned into the back of her retina. The first and last sight of Justice, Myth of Order.
A single silhouette. It's form seed mundane, subpar even, comparable to the chiras whose presence in this conflict numbered in the trillions. But there was sothing unmistakably and profoundly wrong with this one. As though reality rejected this particular combination of limbs, resulting in a harrowing incongruity between what was and what should be.
Two wings, three horns, four legs.
As soon as that shape was elucidated to the mbers of that illustrious chamber, an unholy shriek resounded from the severed head of Justice. Molten cracks ran through the head, smoking as it continued screaming as though feeling the pain of crumbling from within. A heavy sll of burnt flesh began to perate the room, but that was overshadowed by the actions of the smoke.
As if shaped by unseen hands, the dense black smoke coalesced into a replica of that silhouetted burned into Justice's empty eye sockets, a strange presence descending onto the eting room. Made of smoke, its figure was more clearly visible, akin to a horse, and it opened its mouth as if to speak.
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Its presence was debilitating to those watching, as if it strained against the laws of causality just to maintain its presence. Existence itself had outlawed it, and yet it persisted through its uncanny will and strange intelligence.
With a grave expression, Askaloth slashed an imnse, scaled claw through the smoke. Space rent and shattered around it as the colossal dragon fought with that invisible force that maintained the smoke-creature's projection.
With a powerful roar that shook even the stone of the eting room, designed for countless beings of imnse power, the space above Askaloth's terrible clawed hand fell into itself, an irresitable pull of gravity descending on the chamber.
The smoke began to swirl, unable to protect itself against the singularity conjured within it by the Ancient Dragon. Askaloth's mighty gaze narrowed imperceptibly, but his draconic presence overrode that anomalous creature's remnant will and it disappeared. Dismissing the singularity, silence once again reigned in that chamber, but silence of a more heavy kind. The kind that reflects sombre realisation.
They had thought themselves the masters of the galaxy, embroiled in their fight against the enemy, and had taken for granted that the winner would reign supre. But now they knew the truth.
There was more than just the Enemy out there. Their hubris has almost been their doom, even one of their strongest Champions had fallen against the horrors that lurked in the faded gaps between stars. In the silence of the void.
Justice's head had long since been evaporated away, being sucked into that smoke-creature's form. In its wake, a single crow's feather fell, landing softly on the table.
Unnoticed by all, it lay there, unmoving. A silent giggle echoed faintly, unheard, and the feather disappeared.
***
[Unknown ti period, estimated to be a Third Shattering Era recording]
They who sought Salvation stopped at nothing to return to its embrace. Worlds, systems, entire sectors scoured in days as madness spread like a plague. There was no communication with it, no discourse or compromise. It's aims were alien, its actions were incomprehensible. Our galaxy was once tightly interconnected like a vibrant web of life.
Yet with every world that fell to Salvation, those links began to fray irreversibly. Those worlds still existed, but they were completely dark. No transmission was responded to, no vessel sent to communicate ever returned. It was with a heavy heart that we did what we did.
But you must understand, that it was the only way. The Collective was never the sa afterwards, each of us too ashad to face one another in the face of what we had done, retreating inwards for the subsequent centuries, rebuilding and recalling all those lost.
And for what?
When we finally reached that last bastion, that last stronghold. The final world that still proclaid the Words of Salvation, that we hoped held the key to its origin, what did we find?
Hopelessness and horror. A harrowing truth, one that fractured the Collective entirely. Even now, inscribing this ssage, my hands shake. I, who has lived long enough to see entire civilisations rise and fall, still tremble with fear.
Knowledge alone does not cause fear but for the accompanying hopelessness. The inevitable dread that follows you, weighing down on your very soul. In that mont we understood despair.
And so I ran away. Now, in the quiet solitude of this forested planet, I sit and wait. For there is nothing that can be done.
The Words of Salvation were nothing, a re retreating remnant of a long-defeated foe that refused to die.
Like a wounded deer limping through a Dark Forest.
And now, its hunter was coming.
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