Oneless Chapter 2: II: Saturnalia, a super smash brothers fanfic

A/N: It's been a while, hasn't it? Well then, here is Chapter Two of "Oneless": "Saturnalia". I've been thinking I might as well pound out the rest of the story, what with the remaining four chapters left to write. I doubt it will surpass the ten-thousand word mark, but who knows? it might just surprise me.

So please enjoy. Concrit and feedback are welcomed and appreciated.

II.

Saturnalia

"The Heart of One shall outweigh the Heart of Many . . ."

Despite the abilities He possessed, it would take ten millennia before the First Primid came from out of the rotting moon's cesspool.

In order for the Conquest to be realized, He and His Hands searched the cosmos. In and out of realities they went, conducting observations on every planet and satellite they could find. Whether these worlds were inhabited or abandoned were of no importance. What was important was the power of the world's core and its atmosphere. They were rich with life, drenched in so much energy; such musings made Him salivate.

It was through great planning, many lifetimes, and meticulous precision that He began to wipe out galaxies. He had to hit hard and hit fast. The response times for retaliation differed, but from hordes of cavalrymen to armada of war cruisers He crushed them. He tossed their mobile suits round and around with His bladed whip. He cut through charging fleets with His shape-shifting body. He razed entire continents and caused oceanic eruptions with His telekinetic slashes and energy attacks.

It mattered that the ideal world they sought was vital, fruitful, and endless. If the planet's core was weak, He would do either one of two options. One, He would leave the world as it was, dying and overflowing in its own lifestain. The loins of His labors would fester and eventually take course, slowly killing off the planet. (He had heard somewhere that, given time, it would flourish once more. Considering the amount of damage he placed on it, it would take until -- no, beyond the End of Time to heal). Two, if the core was small and did not provide the sufficient energy needed He would destroy it. Shell and all, making sure every inch of the earth was erased from existence.

How many times they were churned to cosmic dust He didn't have a clue. He had kept count while He watched His Hands help tear the lands asunder. When He posed this question to Them while journeying through an Oort cloud, They looked at one another, then looked at Him and shook Themselves.

That settled it. He nodded and told Them that for now on they would no longer be concerned with the number of worlds annihilated. Their first priority was to find a stable world with a stable core. When that priority was met they would move on to what was next on the agenda: creating Subspace.

-- Subspace? They asked. What is Subspace?

-- Everything, He answered. Everything where anything is understood. A place where all Thought, Idea, and Concept can be forged and maintained. A place where Science and Religion can co-exist in harmony and unity. A place where technologiks and magicks do not conflict.

-- Can We make such a place exist? They queried.

-- We can. He said. We can and We will. Everything will be as it should be, and what should be will be.

-- Ah! And They were Enlightened.

And so Their journey continued. With it was a nuance in Their movements, one that innocents and soldiers could not wholly prepare for. This nuance came in two phases. The first phase was the Order; a simple command in a tongue of his own, a word that, with the right tone of voice, would alter the foundations of Their Will and reconstruct a path from one which was worn and new. When He gave the Order, They did not disobey. They delivered prophecy borne on wings epochs old, drove fear into those hearts like an ill-begotten plague, and ripped in the sky the eyes of Fate Inevitable. The second phase of the nuance followed upon inspecting the world core. Following the knowledge mentioned above, He would cast His Judgment; a word for the Hands to retreat, a word that was once said could not be taken back.

The people on their little rock would not see it coming. They would not understand it. They wouldn't even feel a thing. Just a flash of light, and then . . . nothing. Nothing, for none save He could hear the glorious music orchestrated from countless spatial disturbances. The crackling of comets, the hum of a dying star, the splash of a burst core, the roar of a black hole . . . It was brilliant! Fantastic! Stupendous! No being in the multiverse could ever hope to replicate such an orgasmic symphony!

The staunch scent of gamma radiation and musty debris would pervade His nostrils. Space dust would gather in His eyes and create a hazy fog (as if He were looking underwater and not be deterred by its rippling sensations). The muffled cry of the explosion would still echo in His ears like ocean tides. The coppery flavor of blood and fear would linger on the tip of His tongue.

It tasted wonderful. He knew then and there that beauty was glorious, no matter what shape, size, or color it came in.

He would love it even more, and His Hands would suffer for it.

Their journey was long, slow, and arduous, but They had finally reached an end ten thousand years later. However, if it were not for His better Judgment, Their chance at Conqest would have been a missed opportunity.

They stopped at the Spiral, the center of all realities. It was named so because of the shape it had and the way the path of stars circulated. There the triumvirate studied the worlds, planets uninhabited by extreme ice ages, grey goo, and nuclear summers. Most cores were left intact, the Hands' Master concluding that this type of world or that type did not fit His needs for His One True Goal. A few worlds had to be abandoned because of the severe damage they suffered. Left Hand even went so far as to check a planet while it was being sucked into a black hole. He and Right Hand pulled him away in the nick of time, just as the anomaly's event horizon was breached.

They burrowed further into the Spiral, growing darker and more dangerous the deeper They went. Wherever They looked the stars were blossoming in chains of hypernovae and rotating black holes. Some regions were absent of life, evidenced by waves of cooling heat entropy. Suns absorbed planets and satellites alike in their path of destruction; worlds collapsed into their weak cores and erupted; galaxies collided against one another. And following Them with every light-year made was a single supermassive black hole, slowly spinning and breathing (yes, breathing, for it was very much alive) heavily in place.

The Hands feared to travel by Themselves, but Their Master would have none of it. He vowed He would curb this 'fear'. It was a sign of weakness, an insecurity in one's abilities; thus He swore to punish any or all who displayed this emotion. So when They insisted not to go He threatened Them, pulled out His bladed whip and cracked Their palms and fingers.

It was Their first and last time They fled from Their Master in terror.

(It would not be the last time They would disobey Him).

A little while later found Him with the Hands. They returned and requested his opinion on a moon they discovered in a region void of stars. They lead Him to the satellite and showed Him the core, which They saw it to be strong and young and healthy. The surface, on the other hand, was horrible. It was pockmarked with giant craters, often topped with steep geysers or filled to the brim with scalding water. Cracks and crevices lined the rock hard grey earth, appearing so fragile it seemed it would break apart by setting foot on it.

The Hands asked His opinion on the matter. Should They destroy it? Should They keep it as it is? He was pondering this decision when a peculiar sight caught His eye. Above the triumvirate was a white hole. Below it was a small, shallow pit, and in it was a massive, writhing mass of black and purple. The Hands were awed and appalled to behold those things, but Their Master had a different reaction. He approached the pool in silence, ignoring His servants' panic-stricken rabble. He kneeled at the pit's edge and scooped up a palmful of the lumps.

He was surprised when He realized these were not lumps; not just things, mind you, but fist-sized beetles. He glanced at the pit, glanced at the white hole, then back at the little creatures. They did not feel solid nor physically corporeal, but their round bodies were soft, fuzzy, and -- as His finger touched them -- all-encompassing. He blinked. Deep, dark, endless . . . these aspects could only be attributed to--

-- Shadow Bugs, spoke the creatures, or rather, thought. Their voices echoed in His mind. That is what We are.

-- Shadow Bugs? said He. So that is why you feel so.

-- Indeed. We are Darkness, We are Matter, We are Shadows sentient.

-- How long have you dwelled upon this rock?

-- Many a century . . . Many a century have We laid, unmoving, unresponsive. We have watched civilizations come and go; watched peoples advance their technologiks and part for the stars; watched them war and rage and be born anew; watched as they evolved beyond mortal physiology and merge in to one naked singularity. We watched, yet We could not participate.

-- Why is that?

-- We cannot fly. We do not have long life-spans like the humans or anthropomorphs. We are wise, but We do not have the ability to create scientific marvels. Build Our homes in the moon We do, but We are lost to the words of Science and Magic, Theorems and Invocations. If the First Gods granted Us so, We would gladly leave this rock, but that is not Our place to decide what is Ours and what is not.

-- But you say you are sentient, therefore you are free from Their grasp. You do not have to heed Their demands.

-- You are a God, and a First God no less. We cannot obey your command.

-- That I may be, I am my own God. The First Gods . . . no longer matter to me. They are not a part of the Vision I seek.

-- Vision?

-- Yes. A Vision of Conquest, a Vision of Free Rule, a Vision of Everything Whole and In Between. A Vision in which Dreams are realized, made profound, and take flight. Seize this chance, fellow Shadow Bugs, and in return I shall grant all your wishes.

-- Take Us, then. Take Us to a New World. Give Us the Life We want!

And He did, but on a few conditions. He explained His plans for Conquest, where the multiverse was subjected to His Reign, where He could enact Change and deploy Fate to society as a whole. In return He asked for their utmost loyalty, that they shall obey His Word and heed His Whim without fear or hesitation. The Shadow Bugs agreed. They awaited Their first order. He told Them in order for the Conquest to become manifest He needed soldiers, an Army that could match the might of one thousand Suns and the sheer ruthlessness of black holes and ruptured cores.

-- But We cannot make you an Army, Our Liege, said the Shadow Bugs. If We did, how could We do so?

-- I am a God, proclaimed He. I am God and I am Power. I will give you Life.

And give Them Life He did. By extracting a part of Himself and breathing upon Them, the dark creatures were instantly rewarded with Knowledge. It was Knowledge, Understanding, Pursuit, and Choice that evolved Them to a higher plane of existence, changed Their way of Life and the multiverse forever. They could even move, fly, dig further than They ever could before! The Hands were amazed by these results, more so than how Their Master felt. (Deep inside Their core, dread was born. For how would They deal with the comeuppance of Their defiance?).

The next two centuries were focused on building the Liege's Army, traveling galaxies and observing Life. He incorporated natural selection via the coming of the First Primid, a spectacular event that the triumvirate could not forget. For when the Shadow Bugs were gifted They were told to create a body of Their own with a single thought, a vessel that would carry Them through fire, steel, and radiation. Into the water They went, the cesspool which They entered boiling and steaming. They, or rather it, emerged from the pit; a black biped in green armor and a clockwork spring on its back. One glance at its Liege and it fell to knees, declaring: "I am Primid. I Live to Serve You, My Liege."

To say He could never be more happy with His creation was an understatement.

The process continued, churning out new species and variations from the moon's scattered cesspools. His Hands worked to restore the satellite, sacrificing countless Shadow Bugs to pump the core with energy and introduce vegetation and a thriving ecosystem. Left Hand, the braver of the two Hands, was offered the task to power up the dying Sun. He agreed finished his demand upon request, tossing swarms and swarms of the insects into the cooling fires. In no time the Sun was restored, pouring cascades of silver light on the growing Army. Primids, Poppants, Bytans, Floows, Roaders, Bombeds, Greaps, Auroroses, Spaaks, Armanks . . . the list was endless!

Five thousand years into the future would see to the Army building the first boundaries of Subspace. Their moon was flourishing, their Sun radiant as the Dawn of Time, and their numbers growing each and every day. Worlds were conquered and swept clean, galaxies and asteroid belts and star clusters obliterated to distribute more room for the building Empire. Five thousand years would see to their Liege perfecting the ability of interdimensional transfer, warping certain amounts of Space and Time into the Spiral, the One True Universe. It didn't show, but they knew in their cores Subspace was expanding, maturing into the Vision they shared and dreamed.

In Time it would come. In Time it would be realized, and freedom would come true.

By then He would be raised into mythological status, earning Him many nicknames from the endless plethora of the multiverse. Time Devourer, The Antithesis, Hell's Butterfly, Space King, Lord of the Universe, Prince of Shadows, The Angel of Death; these were only a few names He was known by. One title, however, would stand out from the rest, one which His Army would bless Him with.

As He took the Jyk core from their hands and plunged it in His chest, they roared and applauded. -- All Hail the Subspace Emissary! their words rang. -- All Hail the Subspace Emissary, King of the Multiverse!

The Subspace Emissary smiled, true and genuine. He spread His wings, leaned back, and held His arms in a universal embrace. -- Mine, He would think as His minions cheered. -- Mine and Mine alone! For I Am God!

Behind Him the Hands exchanged worried glances.

Another five thousand years passed. Subspace blossomed into a gratuitous pocket dimension. The Emissary announced that the Conquest would soon be in motion. The Army lusted for blood and combat. The Hands grew ever somber. The multiverse continued to reel from His mercilessness.

That was until the Ancient Minister stepped in.