Alive and well and ready for hell.
Jan 18, 2020 12:30:20 GMT -5
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Post by anna on Jan 18, 2020 12:30:20 GMT -5
In the beginning before time and space were considered conquered, before the glass domes, before the timeships...there was a simple race on an intolerable planet. There was beauty in the red grass, the reflective leaves, and the mountain tops. It was humid but it was home and like so many other races on other planets, they were simple folk who worshipped only the things they could see. Their moon was their mother. Its changes were something to live and die for. Its shifting faces showed them the way of life. The moon shone brightly upon their leader, the Prytha. The title passed down, mother to mother, generation to generation.
Along the way as their civilization began to evolve, newer godforms came to life. The hopes and fears of the race soon made themselves manifest. These mental manifestations-turned-godheads were multi-form, but the ones that stood long after the rest fell were a trio of goddesses. Triplets from a single mother. They became the pinnacle and the pillars of the race. For a time, all was even between the sisters. Even with the rising of new challenges, their followers stood together. Soon, there were others with newer thoughts. Bigger thoughts. Dreams within dreams. They aspired to know the universe. What happens out there. But the Prytha still saw her visions. The goddesses still stood. The moon still shone.
Until the Prytha lost her gift.
It is unknown how she did so or even why but steadily, steadily she started getting phased out by three ambitious men. She and her confidants could fool the masses, fool them for a good long time. But progress is inevitable. Challenge is inevitable. Change is inevitable. The domes rose in the desert sands and History was anchored. Of course, that would come with pest problem: the first War that tainted everything and forced them to make a second sun to go along with the first but hey, can’t make an omelette without breaking some eggs. Along the way, the men would replace the goddesses in terms of worship. Eventually one of these men would allegedly risk his life for the good of it all and the other would run off in seeing the turmoil afterwards which only left one left to change the course for his people. And after he yeeted the aging Prytha into the next planet over, forced people into using artificial means to produce offspring, and an unknown incident that caused him to isolate the planet from literally everybody else...
Siri, play Cult of Personality please.
So it was for millions of years. Many generations living under his rules even as he died and lived and died and lived and well, you get the idea. The technology got better, fine tuned a lot of the concepts passed down throughout the years. And naturally you’d have your scant rebels escaping the domes to live in the woods or stealing the occasional timeship and performing the by-now-sacrilegious act of getting away from the planet. But for the most part, that was that. A stagnant group with infinite power holding that power forever and ever and ever and--
Oh, wait. Remember what I said about change? Because when it did happen again, it happened radically. It happened in spite of what became ancient tradition. Suddenly, a wild Enemy appeared. They were capable, unafraid, and most importantly, unknown. They attacked without prodding (or at least without any prodding anybody knew of) and when there was any doubt of their existence, they made evidence of it absolutely clear in a note held in the mouth of a President’s decapitated head. That day changed everything. That set the wheels in motion. Under these circumstances, a new War would rise and older ways started crawling back to the surface. The goddesses, once conquered but never really dead, began to scream.
In a War, you need soldiers. They didn’t have them. And so...they created them. The right whisper in the right ear caused the blossoming Military to thing about diversification. Picking the humans that wouldn’t be missed. How the old ways became new again because they damn sure had to be. And from this merging, a new breed dawned to become bastard sons and daughters. Mongrels. Abominations. All for the sake of this.
To the Multitudes, there is nothing that beats a pink hoodie and feeling like Little Mac. The punches flow from the fists as they battle the shadows. How dare these darkened blobs interfere in our path? The only shadows that should be is us. Or are they us? After all, we are everything. Shut up, you. There’s a distance in her eyes as she punches. A thousand yard stare. We’ve had training in the boxing things. Not much, but some. And our husband...ooooohhhh, our husband has built his name on punches out of nowhere and a strangeness we’ve unleashed. So it should come as no surprise that we have are steadily building a certain mastery to the fists as well as to our kicks.
Ah, yes. The hoodie. We like hoodies. The hood is like a cave except it’s for the head. You can see out while staying in. It’s the right kind of in, y’see. The one when the brain goes at full tilt and the light are all blinged up and the victims that lay in your wake are somehow calling in cold blood and they scream
kill drell kill
nevermind the fact that it’s all been done before it’s said as if they have a choice in who kills who but they don’t they never did they never will this drell who is he his actions are steller and his words are boring lisa loves him but he sided with the clowns which makes him the clown by defaul and he’s leela’s thing but since when does that matter fuck whoever we don’t care
kill drell kill
is that all is that all you want you want drell to kill but kill who us there’s no choice you dont make the choice who kills us we kill us it’s the only way to fly so who do you want him to kill it’s obvious you want him to kill you we hear you the screaming of a thousand souls begging for it to finally end for the light has gone out in your eyes and you are left mindless in your mantra and see the funny thing about mantras is if you repeat it enough you risk losing the meaning and if you lose the meaning you lose the power it becomes meaningless and you’re reciting it over and again like a broken record and it’ll never never never get the job done all you’re doing is wasting time
And time is not to be wasted.
Our mantra is a war drum. Our mantra is a thunder. We saw the boy when he was but a wee bab looking up at the skies trying to find his place. In that moment, he stared into us and we, him. But we forgot. We were taught to forget because they knew first hand what happens when vortex thoughts stick. They take the best and leave the rest, never knowing that the best is never the best!
kill drell? kill
This Earth. It’s clear it wants to die. You’ve fucked it up so much. We can hear it screaming. Howling. Begging for release. All of you. The Humans. You want to die. And see you can sit there and say “oh, no anna we don’t want to die”. But you’re actions are speaking louder than your words ever could. Even as you beg to be spared, in the background in your subconscious...is death. Yet it’s seen as horrible to say such things out loud. To admit such things. Because how DARE you want to die? How DARE you when so many have risked their lives to give you this life? How DARE you cut off what your god has given you?
How.
DARE.
So you suppress it. Oh, how you suppress it. Instead of just indulging in your own suicidal fantasies, you kill each other off. At least that’s more honest and honorable, right? This way, you get to be a martyr. A cautionary tale of crossing the wrong boundaries. At least this way, you don’t get labeled a coward from the ones who are clearly so much more cowardly than you. Those are the people that chant
KILLDRELLKILL
The cowards. The pussies. Because those people can never being themselves to cave a man’s head with a rock. They can’t bring themselves to let their life blood flow to reboot a world. They can’t open themselves up to become their enemy.
To become Multitudes.
So instead they chant their meaningless mantra to people like Kraven-Kaven-Kalvin-Craving-Kalos-Kraden Drell who, being somewhat smart, uses it as part of his fuel to beat his opponent within an inch of their lives. And in every other time in any other multiverse against literally anybody else...it works. The only problem is we still have far too many lives left. We’ve stopped fighting the shadows long ago. We trace our hand along the wall just to remind ourselves.
We survived. We’re alive. We’re here.
Along the way as their civilization began to evolve, newer godforms came to life. The hopes and fears of the race soon made themselves manifest. These mental manifestations-turned-godheads were multi-form, but the ones that stood long after the rest fell were a trio of goddesses. Triplets from a single mother. They became the pinnacle and the pillars of the race. For a time, all was even between the sisters. Even with the rising of new challenges, their followers stood together. Soon, there were others with newer thoughts. Bigger thoughts. Dreams within dreams. They aspired to know the universe. What happens out there. But the Prytha still saw her visions. The goddesses still stood. The moon still shone.
Until the Prytha lost her gift.
It is unknown how she did so or even why but steadily, steadily she started getting phased out by three ambitious men. She and her confidants could fool the masses, fool them for a good long time. But progress is inevitable. Challenge is inevitable. Change is inevitable. The domes rose in the desert sands and History was anchored. Of course, that would come with pest problem: the first War that tainted everything and forced them to make a second sun to go along with the first but hey, can’t make an omelette without breaking some eggs. Along the way, the men would replace the goddesses in terms of worship. Eventually one of these men would allegedly risk his life for the good of it all and the other would run off in seeing the turmoil afterwards which only left one left to change the course for his people. And after he yeeted the aging Prytha into the next planet over, forced people into using artificial means to produce offspring, and an unknown incident that caused him to isolate the planet from literally everybody else...
Siri, play Cult of Personality please.
So it was for millions of years. Many generations living under his rules even as he died and lived and died and lived and well, you get the idea. The technology got better, fine tuned a lot of the concepts passed down throughout the years. And naturally you’d have your scant rebels escaping the domes to live in the woods or stealing the occasional timeship and performing the by-now-sacrilegious act of getting away from the planet. But for the most part, that was that. A stagnant group with infinite power holding that power forever and ever and ever and--
Oh, wait. Remember what I said about change? Because when it did happen again, it happened radically. It happened in spite of what became ancient tradition. Suddenly, a wild Enemy appeared. They were capable, unafraid, and most importantly, unknown. They attacked without prodding (or at least without any prodding anybody knew of) and when there was any doubt of their existence, they made evidence of it absolutely clear in a note held in the mouth of a President’s decapitated head. That day changed everything. That set the wheels in motion. Under these circumstances, a new War would rise and older ways started crawling back to the surface. The goddesses, once conquered but never really dead, began to scream.
In a War, you need soldiers. They didn’t have them. And so...they created them. The right whisper in the right ear caused the blossoming Military to thing about diversification. Picking the humans that wouldn’t be missed. How the old ways became new again because they damn sure had to be. And from this merging, a new breed dawned to become bastard sons and daughters. Mongrels. Abominations. All for the sake of this.
To the Multitudes, there is nothing that beats a pink hoodie and feeling like Little Mac. The punches flow from the fists as they battle the shadows. How dare these darkened blobs interfere in our path? The only shadows that should be is us. Or are they us? After all, we are everything. Shut up, you. There’s a distance in her eyes as she punches. A thousand yard stare. We’ve had training in the boxing things. Not much, but some. And our husband...ooooohhhh, our husband has built his name on punches out of nowhere and a strangeness we’ve unleashed. So it should come as no surprise that we have are steadily building a certain mastery to the fists as well as to our kicks.
Ah, yes. The hoodie. We like hoodies. The hood is like a cave except it’s for the head. You can see out while staying in. It’s the right kind of in, y’see. The one when the brain goes at full tilt and the light are all blinged up and the victims that lay in your wake are somehow calling in cold blood and they scream
kill drell kill
nevermind the fact that it’s all been done before it’s said as if they have a choice in who kills who but they don’t they never did they never will this drell who is he his actions are steller and his words are boring lisa loves him but he sided with the clowns which makes him the clown by defaul and he’s leela’s thing but since when does that matter fuck whoever we don’t care
kill drell kill
is that all is that all you want you want drell to kill but kill who us there’s no choice you dont make the choice who kills us we kill us it’s the only way to fly so who do you want him to kill it’s obvious you want him to kill you we hear you the screaming of a thousand souls begging for it to finally end for the light has gone out in your eyes and you are left mindless in your mantra and see the funny thing about mantras is if you repeat it enough you risk losing the meaning and if you lose the meaning you lose the power it becomes meaningless and you’re reciting it over and again like a broken record and it’ll never never never get the job done all you’re doing is wasting time
And time is not to be wasted.
Our mantra is a war drum. Our mantra is a thunder. We saw the boy when he was but a wee bab looking up at the skies trying to find his place. In that moment, he stared into us and we, him. But we forgot. We were taught to forget because they knew first hand what happens when vortex thoughts stick. They take the best and leave the rest, never knowing that the best is never the best!
kill drell? kill
This Earth. It’s clear it wants to die. You’ve fucked it up so much. We can hear it screaming. Howling. Begging for release. All of you. The Humans. You want to die. And see you can sit there and say “oh, no anna we don’t want to die”. But you’re actions are speaking louder than your words ever could. Even as you beg to be spared, in the background in your subconscious...is death. Yet it’s seen as horrible to say such things out loud. To admit such things. Because how DARE you want to die? How DARE you when so many have risked their lives to give you this life? How DARE you cut off what your god has given you?
How.
DARE.
So you suppress it. Oh, how you suppress it. Instead of just indulging in your own suicidal fantasies, you kill each other off. At least that’s more honest and honorable, right? This way, you get to be a martyr. A cautionary tale of crossing the wrong boundaries. At least this way, you don’t get labeled a coward from the ones who are clearly so much more cowardly than you. Those are the people that chant
KILLDRELLKILL
The cowards. The pussies. Because those people can never being themselves to cave a man’s head with a rock. They can’t bring themselves to let their life blood flow to reboot a world. They can’t open themselves up to become their enemy.
To become Multitudes.
So instead they chant their meaningless mantra to people like Kraven-Kaven-Kalvin-Craving-Kalos-Kraden Drell who, being somewhat smart, uses it as part of his fuel to beat his opponent within an inch of their lives. And in every other time in any other multiverse against literally anybody else...it works. The only problem is we still have far too many lives left. We’ve stopped fighting the shadows long ago. We trace our hand along the wall just to remind ourselves.
We survived. We’re alive. We’re here.