05-10-2017, 08:47 AM
The Scientist Supreme’s mandibles clacked together, an irritated clicking sound building in the back of his lightly irradiated throat as he stared down the human and his magecraft. Only a human could manage this. Only a human could will forth something as mundane as a hat when presented with the entirety of creation as their clay, to sculpt and shape as they saw fit. Murmuring untranslatable curses under his breath, Axemerax’s claws unfolded, talons rending reality to ribbon as he focused his will.
Either the universe itself would align itself with its will, or one of them would shatter while attempting to impose their laws on the other.
The Primus did not earn his position as the head of his own interstellar empire simply by kowtowing to abstract concepts such as physics, morals, or the more common perceptions of space-time.
The world broke before Axemerax did. Insanity and ingenuity ignited within his ravaged mind, setting neurons aflame as double helixes swam across his sight. Tendrils of iridescent power wrapped around his claws, coruscating ribbons of power cascading over him, spittle seeping from his jaws as he focused the entirety of his existence on this moment, this power, this feeling of supreme control. It was an experience unparalleled in his many years of life, creation at his fingertips as he impressed his will upon it.
Yes. Yes. YES!
Proteins coalesced out of pure power, a genetic code buried deep within the recessed remnants of his mind being pried forth and thrown under the harsh light of his intellect. The first creature to die beneath him, dissected and torn apart at a molecular level to feed the rapacious appetite for discovery enkindled within him. Keratin folded around itself as the claws of the beast began to come together, the helixes entwining themselves together as scales, flesh, and bone apparated out of the air.
It took several minutes of focus, the toxins he sought to use to douse the flames of his mind burning away as his mind was set aflame. Eventually, he uncurled his gauntlet, a Dune-newt idle upon his palm, its tongue slipping forth from its jaws as it licked solid black eyes, claws tapping upon tempered steel as it began to crawl. “Life.” It clambered over the structure of his sarcophagus, seeking the heat coming from the systems embedded deep within. Was there a limit to their newfound powers of creation?
“We can create existence itself, shape reality to our whims, and you… you create a hat?” Axemerax spat the words, but the consistent monotone of his translator rendered it in a more neutral tone. The sorcerer shrugged, their new hat cocked at a jaunty angle. “I figured it’s best to start small. Besides, we don’t know if we’re stealing these things from our world, or creating them.”
“Caution is highly overrated,” mandibles clicked together as he spoke, paralytic toxins dripping from his maw. “Nothing should stop progress, or your ambition. Not laws. Not morals. You do not seek 15 minutes of glory, or to surround yourself with fools grown fat on the spoils of war. You build whatever machine you deem necessary to pierce the hells and heavens, and in the last few moments of their existence, you punish them for presuming they could demand your allegiance.”
They leaned closer, strands of toxic spittle hanging between their three jaws, their armour humming as it built power, the pest they had created concealing itself in the crevices of the durasteel plating. The Primus’s prosthetic eyes struggled to convey what he felt, ancient alien flesh twisting itself into an expression of annoyance, tinged with disappointment.
“You will accomplish precious little with a hat.”
Either the universe itself would align itself with its will, or one of them would shatter while attempting to impose their laws on the other.
The Primus did not earn his position as the head of his own interstellar empire simply by kowtowing to abstract concepts such as physics, morals, or the more common perceptions of space-time.
The world broke before Axemerax did. Insanity and ingenuity ignited within his ravaged mind, setting neurons aflame as double helixes swam across his sight. Tendrils of iridescent power wrapped around his claws, coruscating ribbons of power cascading over him, spittle seeping from his jaws as he focused the entirety of his existence on this moment, this power, this feeling of supreme control. It was an experience unparalleled in his many years of life, creation at his fingertips as he impressed his will upon it.
Yes. Yes. YES!
Proteins coalesced out of pure power, a genetic code buried deep within the recessed remnants of his mind being pried forth and thrown under the harsh light of his intellect. The first creature to die beneath him, dissected and torn apart at a molecular level to feed the rapacious appetite for discovery enkindled within him. Keratin folded around itself as the claws of the beast began to come together, the helixes entwining themselves together as scales, flesh, and bone apparated out of the air.
It took several minutes of focus, the toxins he sought to use to douse the flames of his mind burning away as his mind was set aflame. Eventually, he uncurled his gauntlet, a Dune-newt idle upon his palm, its tongue slipping forth from its jaws as it licked solid black eyes, claws tapping upon tempered steel as it began to crawl. “Life.” It clambered over the structure of his sarcophagus, seeking the heat coming from the systems embedded deep within. Was there a limit to their newfound powers of creation?
“We can create existence itself, shape reality to our whims, and you… you create a hat?” Axemerax spat the words, but the consistent monotone of his translator rendered it in a more neutral tone. The sorcerer shrugged, their new hat cocked at a jaunty angle. “I figured it’s best to start small. Besides, we don’t know if we’re stealing these things from our world, or creating them.”
“Caution is highly overrated,” mandibles clicked together as he spoke, paralytic toxins dripping from his maw. “Nothing should stop progress, or your ambition. Not laws. Not morals. You do not seek 15 minutes of glory, or to surround yourself with fools grown fat on the spoils of war. You build whatever machine you deem necessary to pierce the hells and heavens, and in the last few moments of their existence, you punish them for presuming they could demand your allegiance.”
They leaned closer, strands of toxic spittle hanging between their three jaws, their armour humming as it built power, the pest they had created concealing itself in the crevices of the durasteel plating. The Primus’s prosthetic eyes struggled to convey what he felt, ancient alien flesh twisting itself into an expression of annoyance, tinged with disappointment.
“You will accomplish precious little with a hat.”
Torcher of tomes, slayer of sorcerers, taker of ears, and flayer of men. Reasonable rates.