Demons, part four
It was less than common knowledge, to the inhabitants of any particular plane, that there existed other planes than one's own - whatever one might choose to call them. For some, the moniker-of-choice was universes or realms, with others, it was planes or timelines. Then there was the classic and counter-intuitive label, dimensions.
There were certain extraordinary people who knew that for a fact, and there were a effin' large number of sentient races whose scientists had formulated such theories, that was true. To the average person, that particular tidbit was as foreign as it was irrelevant in mundane circumstances, though.
What was even less commonly known among the assorted gods and mortals, and other things, of all the worlds was that there between the infinite realms existed other and strange kinds of space - much in the same way that there were empty gulfs between the planets and stars of a spherical reality.
The Bleed that enveloped the Justice League's multiversal group, the Void around the realities where the Avengers and X-Men and Time Lords existed, the Blind Eternities... there were no shortage of these things in the Omniverse, really.
It was in one of these interstice-spaces that Shuma-Gorath existed at the moment, one of his own making. Around the green terror was a blandly-white nothing. The eldritch horror himself was drifting peaceably in this whiteness, his eyelid closed and his multitude of tentacles in a state of easy relaxation.
A short distance before the Lord of Chaos in the whiteness, a number of cubes drifted lethargetically through the void. All five of them were the same size; roughly one square metre.
Four of those - the planes intended for demons, Pokemon, Duel Monsters and Digimon in his constructed universe - were virtually identical: Vast lands and oceans in miniature were at the bottom of each cube, bright blue skies at their upper sections.
The fifth was different, for it had a vast grey expanse at its lower region and couldn't make its mind up about what color sky it wanted to have. At the moment, the residents of the mortal-intended world were treated to the sight of a green sky. After a moment had passed, it was red. A while later, it was purple-black.
Shuma-Gorath's pink eye opened, gazing upon the five worlds.
"Five three-dimensional worlds, each one imbued with a lifespan and a volume that will define the word 'infinite'. Reality strengthened so greatly that nothing can ever disrupt the order of either space or time. New laws for all things of substance or soul to abide by. Truly, these are my greatest work, unrivalled in these past fifteen billennia of my life. Yet, the great work, the gift, is not yet complete. It is still too small to be adequate. An odd thought, now that I think about it, for what can meaningfully expand the infinite?"
The answer immediately made itself clear to him, something recalled rather than something realized. "Very well," murmured Shuma-Gorath. This step of the project was scheduled to be seventeen centuries away still, but he was willing to be flexible.
Highfather soon found his stroll through the meadow interrupted, his seeking of refuge from grief ended. From behind him sounded a strange thing, like the breaking of- Izaya was surprised by the conclusion of his thought. It was the sound like that of a Mother Box gently guiding space into a new shape, but worse than he had ever heard. This eerie hollering, he could only identify as space being broken.
"What can cause such a thing?" he whispered a thought, while turning around to its origin. What he saw was a green tentacled creature whose pink-red eye was focused on him.
"Well met," greeted Shuma-Gorath, jovially, "Highfather of New Genesis. I am known by the name, Shuma-Gorath Aensland, in the world I come from. I come to you this day because there is a matter of celestial importance that need to be discussed. I presume that you are neither busy nor disinclined to converse?"
After a moment of giving him a tired look, Highfather exhaled gravely. "I suppose that this might serve as a distraction from these dire times," decided the god-king. "I shall give you whatever insights I am able to give."
Shuma-Gorath hovered, his tentacles quietly animate. After a bit of thought, he began, "I am something akin to a shaper and designer of existence itself, Highfather. Tell me, how much do you know of the nature of spacetime?"
Highfather inclined his head, inwardly perplexed by the leap of topic. "I am not particularly studious in these fields myself," disclosed the pale-haired man, "but a number of scientists are among my charges, and practical experiences have imparted a number of revelations upon me like my meditations of the Source has."
Shuma-Gorath responded with a pleased look. "Then you are aware that the universe is lamentably finite. Every passing draw all things closer to the end. Whatever else is true, the material planes are all doomed to someday become endlessly-vast nothingnesses as space expands and as all their contents are whittled away by the passing of the eons."
"Grim fates indeed," intoned Highfather. "Do I assume correctly that you intend to somehow stave them off?"
Shuma-Gorath bobbed his head, pink eye now literally-and-figuratively gleaming.
"What I intend to forge is a new universe," related the demon, "to replace the ever-shifting mess of space-time pathways and realized possibilities that is currently in place beyond this plane. In that realm, the fabric of space will be woven into a new, linear, and unbendingly resilient form. Unlike here in the Fourth World, where physical space is a finite volume, this universe's space will be genuinely endless and eternal, and fortified against the sort of spatiotemporal chaos that plague and pervade the various multiversal groups of the present era."
"New law-systems, for both the material and spiritual, will be put in place to help reinforce it all," Shuma-Gorath's tone was one of unabashed glee at what he related, "and ensure that none, whether through instruments crafted by arts mundane or magical, will ever again be able to distort the shape and way of the universe."
"What I require to fashion this perfected universe is an extant plane of existence, to serve the role of receptacle for all that exists within every actualized space-time pathway. Through this, the perpetual donation of new substance and power, this new universe will forever be able to avoid the one form of death that it might yet succumb to - the eons-slow decline of all, and the sputtering-out of the stars to dust."
"As you likely already have inferred," related Shuma-Gorath sheepishly, his eye looking away from Highfather, "this, I would have the Fourth World be - for is it not true that the infinite universes are but bubbles in this one realm of gods? For that reason, the Fourth World fits my requirements particularly well, and I have come to hear whether you would agree with I that the Fourth World is suited as the core for this existential shift."
"I will not prevaricate about its ramifications," disclosed the green and floating god to the robed and standing god. "The Source Wall will become just an immense heap of rock and corpses adrift among the stars. The influences of the one who is known to your pantheon as the Source will be exorcised from the Fourth World. The Mother Boxes will all cease to operate, and the Boom Tubes particularly impossible to conjure."
"What say you?"
What could one say to that, wondered the god-king. Whoever or whatever this Aensland was, he was quite mad, that much was certain - or else, he was unspeakably dangerous. In either situation, he was guilty of no small amount of blasphemy against the Source, and a modicum of hypocrisy.
He doubted that anything he said would matter; one who would plan something so thoroughly could not readily be dissuaded.
"I will say," voiced Izaya, indifferently, "that you certainly have contemplated this comprehensively, Sir Aensland. Though I indeed believe that what you intend can produce the kind of universe that you seek, I will not offer you our universe as a subject for your ambitious project," not, Highfather decided against saying, that he believed it was a genuine choice.
"What you seek, Shuma-Gorath, will cause great and unnecessary tumult," stated Highfather, standing stern. "Myriad mortals would have to readjust everything they know of life and science and cosmography for the sake of your vision. A more current concern is that these people would be defenseless against the rulers and forces of Apokolips, at a time when we gods of New Genesis are at our weakest and least able to defend them."
Highfather paused a moment, before beginning again. "I will not take up arms against you, for I recognize that you intend only the best for the cosmos. I beseech you, Shuma-Gorath - have consideration for the, well, quite uncountable people whose lives your celestial decision would affect, and choose a less impactful course of action in achieving this goal."
"Act if you must, and with compassion if you can - this is the insight that I, Highfather, has to give."
Shuma-Gorath swayed back a bit, tentacles motionless. His eye lidded closed. "Then," spoke the mouthless one, "I suppose that there is nothing else that needs be addressed between us, Highfather."
The effect was as unmissable to Highfather as it was swift, though there was nothing to physically sense of the event. He could simply feel it, everywhere around him - it was both familiar and unfamiliar, a sensation that he mused might make for a good poem, a silent something behind what he beheld that felt unutterably different from what had been there previously.
In every nook and cranny of space that there existed in the gulf between New Genesis and the Source Wall, great changes were worked at that moment, by the will of Shuma-Gorath that told reality - in no uncertain terms - to sit down and shut up and go along with him.
At a multitude of places across that expanse, each far away from the others, black holes just ceased to exist like they had never been, and the linearity of three-space was restored. Elsewhere, the God of Knowledge found that his meditative gazing upon an emerald sun met with an unwelcome conclusion, namely, his Mobius Chair spontaneously ceasing its more elaborate function of traversing time. Beyond the Source Wall, the infinite came to be, and supplanted the undimensioned spaces that was there before it.
The timestream suffered only moreso by the act than the Fourth World's space - the whole structure plain and simple unraveled, until nothing remained of the past but memories in minds both mortal and divine, and the future was rendered a blank canvas.
An indefinable distance beyond the Fourth World, in normal spacetime, the released will and power of Shuma-Gorath took to another endeavor - at the starting moment of the year nineteen-billion across a dozen actualities, in the great gulf between galaxies and close to a single blue star, a colorless and substanceless two-layered bubble manifested. At the center of the five-dimensional thing, the Appetite aspect of the metaphysical force called Shuma-Gorath was eagerly awaiting the feast, and as its surface, a simulation of a Boom Tube. Silently, it began to expand, its pace continually accelerating; not even after a minute, the intertwined forces were sweeping across one-hundred-metre spans of empty space a second, had reached back that far back through time, and extended their reach to one-hundred-and-six universes.
And, back in the Fourth World, Shuma-Gorath voiced, "Oh, and before I forget, you spoke of Apokolips having rulers," to Highfather. "Has Darkseid been overthrown, or forced to share power?" In hindsight, thought Shuma-Gorath, perhaps ignoring the god-realm's affairs for so long was an unwise decision.
"He has taken a wife," answered Highfather, flatly, "her chosen moniker is Dark Phoenix."
A curious mood filled the pink eye. "Dark Phoenix on Apokolips?" questioned the tentacled demon-deity. "However did this development come about?"
"This," admitted the god-king, "I know not. All that I know of her origins is that she was once a mortal woman named Jean Grey. How the paths of Darkseid and Dark Phoenix ever crossed is something that we have ever been unable to ascertain."
In hindsight, thought the antediluvian demon, that should have been a possibility he had considered.
One of the rooms adjacent to Lady Aensland's bed-chamber was the room where she had her video game collection. It was there that she was now, seated in a high-backed chair which was outfitted with brown-colored leather. Depicted upon the oval screen before her was a dark and star-littered expanse, where a pair of spaceships were locked in battle and exchanging much laser-fire.
Quietly, Shuma-Gorath slid into existence, a distance left of her. Almost in the corner of her eye, the kimono-wearing succubus observed his arrival. "Hello, Shuma," she greeted him matter-of-factly, not taking her attention off the game.
The green-skinned demon simply floated, a lethargic swaying motion. "I come bearing good tidings, beloved."
At this, Morrigan quickly made to pause her game. One thing she had come to learn was that his definition of 'good tidings' commonly aligned only vaguely with that of the common demon. She turned her head his way, moving to support her jaw-region with her balled left hand. "Whatever might this be?"
"Morrigan Aensland," announced the tentacled thing, "I bid you a happy birthday."
Her expression solidified into an amused semi-frown.
"On this glorious occasion," he went on, raising a tentacle on his right side towards her, "this day that you celebrate your 2500th year of life, I have brought you this," several ghostly shapes manifested in the air between them. At their center, Morrigan observed a pitch-black sphere, and surrounding that one, five different cubes of identical size and differing colors.
"I acknowledge that the collection may seem small from the outside," said Shuma-Gorath, "but I am certain that you will find these realms to your liking. Half of these six represent the categories of deity, mortal and demon, whereas the other three are inhabited by different sorts of monsters and abide by the laws of a role-playing game."
A mixture of emotions - both amusement and bemusement, and faint disbelief, and others - washed over her countenance, before her expression settled on the fragment of a smirk that didn't reach her eyes. The look in his eye turned bashful, and he wondered if he had done the delivery of the present poorly in some manner.
It appeared, thought the queen as she rose and moved to face him, that he was not quite the cosmic control-freak she remembered having concluded once. The succubus affixed him with a questioning gaze. "Is this the real reason you've devoted all these centuries to all these atrocities?" the tone of her voice was not quite accusatory; if anything, resigned as well as curious. She knew well that her husband didn't think the same way as the common demon did, but she was still a bit surprised to learn of this.
A bashful unease flickered to life in his eye. He wondered idly what the Great Young Ones would think of this particular detail. "It is... one of the reasons behind it. You will likely be pleased to hear that I've abandoned the black hole method."
Her expression brightened a smidge. "Quite so. But really, Shuma," she said with a bit of a wry chuckle, "moderation is just a word in the dictionary to you these decades, isn't it?"
His initial response was a simple, "perhaps," and to himself, he mused that he hadn't done much self-analysis this decade. He considered the idea of taking a meditative sojourn for a century or two, before deciding against it - the alternative, the spending of that span of time with her on mundanity's idle and sweet pleasures, was more inviting.
"And, before I forget to ask," added Morrigan, sounding amused, "do you believe that my birthday is today? In general," she specified, "or for that specific number."
His eye widened momentarily, in brief-lived surprise. "I am ashamed to admit," spoke the mouthless one, his voice quietened, "that I might have lost track of it at some point. My... I'm sorry."
She sighed, walking up to him. Briefly, the succubus stroked the portion of his body above the eyeball.
"Shuma," opened the succubus, sternly. "In all the endless years that I have known you, I have had to cope with the idea of unspeakable acts and the knowledge that you were perpetrating such. Yet, the closest thing to a constant in those ages," an earnest smile took form on her face, "has been your place by my side. Your failing to keep an accurate track of one of my birthdays will not change that."
The pink-red eye gained a weary quality. Truly, thought the ancient one, he was treated better than one like him deserved.
"Just do not," cautioned the lime-haired queen, tone a smidge chiding, "make this into a habit."