Garęihnȉh looked at his minions, ready to tell them the second part of his plan, as most of them returned his excitement. He moved his huge claws around the room to control the smog, reducing the thickness of the blanket on the ceiling and carving away any vapors that obscured their view of the scene of the mortal realm playing at the central firepit. He fast-forwarded it to the present view of Meshara training under Namkuzu, noting how her soul wouldn't be able to handle whatever was about to come next. A sinister smile crept across his face as he imagined the disunity that would ensue in her community, while his minions leaned forward in anticipation, most of them eager to play their part in the unfolding drama.
At the same time, Grim was tearing more sticky notes off his pile, preparing to take mental notes to copy with his pen. He reached over toward a spot about a foot to the right of his diagrams, his carpal bones vibrating violently, and placed those sticky notes on the red-tinted glass, anticipating what would happen on the floor below him. Holding his scythe as steadily as he could, the Reaper shuffled over to that spot to save himself as much pain as he could. He lifted his scythe off the floor and gently deposited it to avoid catching the guards' attention, then he picked up his pen again, his mandible chattering all the while. He looked out at the insectoid death lord, who was readying himself for his next big demonstration, and began writing a few sentences about how the hate might connect to the red smoke he had seen Garęihnȉh use on Tilmun earlier.
Garęihnȉh stared hungrily into the scene emanating from the firepit, anticipating when the first signs of doubt would flicker across Meshara's face. He fantasized about the animosity and uncertainty that would spread like wildfire when the time came for her to take her leadership role, his fingers twiddling with excitement at destroying her bonds with her people. He leaned his head toward hers, licking his lips at the chaos he would soon sow within her soul, and began to chuckle maliciously at the discord's roots spreading throughout Sumer and beyond. "Soon, my naïve little Meshara," he said mockingly under his breath, his grin growing wider. "There will be nothing left to gain for you. You may be well-versed in the epics of your world and have great understanding of how compassion works, but there's something else coming your way." He started licking his nails. "Your community will tear itself apart, and we will be there to pick up the pieces, but—"
"Sir?" Tetaārⱥvṟḯne asked, interrupting his superior's fantasies.
"What did you say?!" Garęihnȉh boomed, turning his attention toward his pear-shaped servant.
"Don't you think it's time to pull your head out of your fantasies?"
"WHAT?! OF COURSE NOT! MY FANTASIES ARE WHAT INSPIRE ME, TETAĀRȺVṞḮNE!" the wicked death lord fired back, his voice a raging lava ball ready to incinerate its target at a moment's notice. "IN ALL THOSE THOUSANDS OF YEARS UNDER MY EMPLOY, WHICH HAS GIVEN YOU MORE THAN ENOUGH TIME TO KNOW THE RULES BY HEART, YOU DEVIATE FROM THE OFFICIAL CODE OF THE GREAT DOMAIN OF GARĘIHNȈH TO DISRUPT MY GOALS..." he sprayed like a raging tsunami at his Victorian suit-wearing minion as he roughly grabbed him by his collar with his left huge claw, "...AND TAKE OUR CHANCES TO OBTAIN OUR LONG-SOUGHT-AFTER GLORY AND RESPECT FROM THE COUNCIL OF THE DEAD DOWN THE DRAIN?! WELL, WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?!"
"Well...I was telling you that you were getting too caught up in your fantasies to explain your plan, sir," Tetaārⱥvṟḯne began, his voice cracking a little as his eyes rapidly pulsated in their sockets. "I was reminding you to stay on task to get this meeting done that you called us all in here for."
"I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU'RE TELLING ME!" Garęihnȉh fired back, the dangerous glimmer in his eyes starting to flicker as he tried to retain his focus on his target. "YOU STILL SHOULDN'T HAVE VIOLATED THE RULES OF THE GREAT DOMAIN OF GARĘIHNȈH...wait, what?" he continued, the atomic fallout of his voice clearing itself out of the air as he took a few deep breaths. "Oh...that? That's a very spot-on point. Perhaps I was getting a little too stuck to tell everyone the second fun part of our plan. Thanks for reminding me about it." He set Tetaārⱥvṟḯne down on the ground gently (albeit in a manner that made the latter have to regain his balance), motioning him to go grab something from the shelf where he'd gotten the clear violet bottle. "Anyway, just as I was saying before I kind of lost my train of thought to my fantasies, let's move on to the second fun part of our plan."
"Yes, let's do it," a minion replied, her eyes glowing in anticipation.
"Sounds good," said Garęihnȉh, nodding his head in agreement. "Everybody gather around." He moved his left huge claw toward the fiery green cylinder, directing his minions' attention toward the projected action in the mortal realm.
Up in his space, Grim watched the scene in action, writing down mental notes about the scene happening on the cylinder and copying them down with his pen on another set of sticky notes he moved to the left of the rest. He drew pictures of the events, showing Meshara and Namkuzu together with the cloud of hate in the background, adding an analysis of how this cloud threatened their community, and creating a picture of Meshara surrounded with the miasma and trying to maintain her strong moral compass through the tension it built. He struggled to keep his pen steady as he wrote down his notes, trying to overpower the spasms that were starting to form in his arms and hands as well as his wrist tremors that were beginning to take their toll on his handwriting. He drew some arrows connecting the notes, writing details about how they connected to each other, and added some forms to his miasma to show these details in action around Meshara's mind and heart. Just as he was halfway through his last sentence, a familiar hue of red flashed across the room, breaking his concentration. The Reaper quickly finished writing that sentence and shuffled to the right side of the alcove to see what was going on in the Inner Sanctum's main space below him.
Garęihnȉh was carrying a ball of the red light on his right huge claw (the same one Grim had seen him direct at Tilmun when he was hiding in the statue he had broken and repaired), which he transported around the room so everyone could see it. He showed it to each of the minions he passed, asked for their opinion on it as he walked around the floor.
"I think it's cool!" one muscular devil-like minion said, his eyes full of fire.
"That light sure is dazzling!" a gorgon-like minion said in agreement.
"It's bound to light up everything around here!" a green-skinned minion with a fancy suit added, nodding his head in approval.
"I hope this will make a great show no one will ever forget!" a fourth minion, who had aquamarine skin and wore a cocktail dress, said, giving her boss a thumbs-up.
"Definitely fun!" a fifth minion, who wore a colonial suit, burst out, shaking eir butt in excitement.
Garęihnȉh continued walking around the room for the rest of his underlings' opinions on the light, to which most of them gave their approval (except Érɨtaỏdiģriīyai who was still gritting her teeth and shaking in frustration, Tetaārⱥvṟḯne who made sarcastic comments under his breath, and Tilmun who said he wasn't entirely sure it could work). He sprinkled that green fairy dust-like substance on those who didn't have their full attention toward him, reminding them to concentrate on the matter at hand before he got their opinions, and then moved on to the next group when that was finished. Once Garęihnȉh had gotten everyone's opinions he could find, he walked back to the center of the room, and began preparing for his next grand demonstration.
"As promised, everyone, here's the second fun part of our plan to earn that long-awaited respect and hard-earned place in the history of the dead," he began, addressing everyone in the room. "Which involves spreading this light you might see on my claw," he continued, directing their attention toward the red light that emanated from the sharp point on that claw. "Now, before we begin, did I miss anyone?"
Several minions raised their hands, reminding their boss they had been passed over, and prompting him to walk toward them. He threw a little more of this dusty substance into their eyes to catch their attention before he did so, and asked them for their opinions on the light.
"It's cool," one (who wore sunglasses) said, while the rest in that small group nodded.
"Good," Garęihnȉh responded, "that's everybody." He walked back toward where he stood when he began his address. "Now back to the subject at hand," he continued, smiling as he intensified the ominous red glow on his right huge claw, "spreading this light across the land."
"How are we going to do that?" one minion in the far periphery of the room asked, raising his hand and waving it around.
"I'm about to show you," Garęihnȉh responded, moving the glow close to the cylindrical flame. "Just stand back and watch as the light goes through to the scene."
The evil insectoid death lord inched his glow toward the light, shining it closer and closer to Meshara's face in the flame to show her his corrupted vision of the world around her, and gave a wicked grin to remind her of the challenges she would soon face during her journey toward becoming a leader in her community. He whispered threatening words to her, punctuating each sentence with a flash of his dangerously glittering white teeth, stroking his left huge claw with the fingers on his left hand. He also licked his lips again, savoring the sweet and salty taste of her sweat on the day her greatest battle came, and felt the soothing sound of his tongue scrape across his enamels like a finger across leathery sandpaper as he dove into his fantasies once more. As the two light sources leaned closer and closer for a kiss, Garęihnȉh's smile grew wider, zeroed in on making the surface world his own battlefield to "valiantly" send his troops to conquer, and the temperature of his claw climbed up higher and higher to show the hot iron at hand for the upcoming battle between good and evil. Grim watched from the outside, struggling to keep his mandible and carpal bones under control, and felt his noncorporeal heart pounding faster and faster as he observed the malevolent multi-legged demonic being create a volley of gold sparks in between his light and the cylindrical fire column emanating from the pit.
After a few seconds, a powerful flash of red light filled the room, creating a faint cloud that obscured everyone's vision for about half a minute, and sending more of these gold sparks flying around like a swarm of wasps assaulting their next target. The sparks richocheted off the walls, clobbering the occupants with a small jolt that sent them shaking quickly in shock, and beaned the glass with the force of a golf ball hitting a window, sending it bouncing back and forth like elastic being hit with a rubber bullet from a toy gun. The dust spread quickly like kudzu vines in a garden, tugging at everyone's hair and skin like the fabric shirt being pulled onto its wearer's body, and pushing them a few yards away from the center of the room as if an imaginary forcefield was expanding before their eyes. The sound of flapping wings made itself audible in the center as well, flinging particles toward its targets to let them know their place in the room as the chaotic scene unfolded. Once this process had completed, the dust settled and revealed the scene going on as normal, albeit with everyone's eyes giving off a faint eerie golden glow that reminded the occupants of the difficult times ahead.
"You may think you'll make a great high priestess, Meshara," Garęihnȉh began, his gritty tongue scraping across his canines as an ensemble of red ghostly forms danced around in his mind, "but there's another thing coming your way. Your people are starting to build their trust in you, but remember, trust is fragile. You will soon lose the support of all those around you, those who expect you to serve and protect your community from the wrath of the Sumerian pantheon, the second you mess up, which I know is approaching much faster than you anticipate. When that happens, I'll be there to watch you fall, and the people will turn to me, a leader ten times better than that Namkuzu ever was."
"Excuse me, Garęihnȉh, sir?" Tetaārⱥvṟḯne asked bitterly, shooting a glance in his boss's head's direction. "Aren't you going to demonstrate how this will work to everyone?"
"I was just getting to it, Tetaārⱥvṟḯne," the evil death lord replied, the spiciness returning in his voice and his eyes flickering that same dangerous fiery orange as before, but not nearly as much as the first time. "Just let me go at my pace, and I'll get this show on the road. Capiche?"
"I understand, sir," Tetaārⱥvṟḯne nodded, walking off to grab something from the shelf.
"Good," Garęihnȉh said. "I'm glad you understand. Now get me that bright orange bottle, will you?"
"On it, Garęihnȉh."
"Cool," the insectoid being responded, the fire and spice gone from his face. "Now as I was saying, this glow is crucial for the second fun part of our plan." He fast-forwarded the scene in the projector by a few months. "Which begins with this," he held out his right hand, scuttling toward the right so everyone could feast their eyes on the terrible episode about to unfold in front of them. "Get ready for the ultimate uprising."
The scene showed Meshara standing on the ziggurat's steps, holding a pile of various foodstuffs in her arms, and looking upon a group of common people standing near the temple. The people said something about a famine befalling their village near Uruk, hoping they could procure their goods from the ziggurat's leadership and help solve the disaster that threatened their community. They were asking the future high priestess-to-be for food for themselves and their fellow villagers, but Meshara just stood there, unsure of what to do. The scene zoomed in close on her face as sweat dripped from her brow; filled with a mix of sympathy for the villagers, uncertainty of Namkuzu's commands, sorrow at parting with such a great bounty of food, and worry that her position was being undermined. Some faint purple clouds moved toward her, delighting in the savory taste of her sweat, and smiling at her teeth chattering in confusion at what to do with the sustenance sitting in her arms. Caught both literally and figuratively in a miasma of hate and superiority, she distributed a small pile of food into each commoner's arms, put some more down on the ground, and kept the rest for herself, reminding them of her position in society and praising "the great and heroic Meshara" for her "beneficial deeds." Some of the villagers thanked her as they left while others cursed her, trying to "wake up" the others and see "the real Meshara" beyond these actions.
"Do you see what's happening here?" Garęihnȉh asked everyone in the room, motioning their attention to the villagers on the green flaming screen.
"Meshara gave the villagers small portions of food and kept some for herself," a minion said, flashing the gold of his expensive watch to the others. "Some of them were grateful while others were furious at her miserliness. The clouds breached her defenses."
"Correct, but it's only the first part of the answer. What else do you see in this scene?"
"The villagers were arguing about the true character of the future priestess-to-be. The angry ones were telling the others she was too selfish to be a true leader of this community, while the thankful ones were grateful they received food."
"We're getting somewhere," Garęihnȉh vindicatively replied, tilting his head about 26° counterclockwise, "but your answer's still not hitting the mark. What deeper meaning do you see in this scenario?"
"I know!" a human minion in ancient Greek garb yelled, raising her hand.
"Yes, what is it?" her boss replied, a little grin tugging at the corners of his mouth and his eyes hardening with resolve.
"They're beginning an argument in disunity," she answered, turning toward the projected episode. "They're creating a crack in the people's unity in supporting their future leaders and casting a cloud of uncertainly over whether she's qualified to lead them toward a good future."
"Go on," Garęihnȉh nodded, his smile growing more prominent.
"They're alluding to a sign of civil war in their community, the kind that creates animosity so strong only harsh coercion can unify them to work together."
"Good answer," Garęihnȉh nodded, moving his left finger down his left canine. "That's the kind of animosity we're looking to spread across this land." He moved his left huge claw toward the group of minions eagerly taking mental note of their plans. "But first, I must demonstrate it to you. Any volunteers?"
A few minions raised their hands, eager to play their part in the disunity of the area, but most of them stepped back with a crawling sensation in their skin, the painful hate smog fight still fresh in their minds. Their lord looked around and pointed at those with hands, motioning them to come up to the scene to join the villagers in their dispute as Grim watched from his alcove above. The skeletal Reaper took some more notes in his volley of sticky notes, writing about the projected Meshara's behavior and the arguments between the villagers on the fiery screen, and mentally preparing himself to watch the intense demonstration about to unfold in front of everyone else in the room. He took a deep breath and calmed his maxilla as much as he could, reassuring himself this demonstration would only be temporary and he would be able to survive long enough to convey this message to Meshara in the world of the living. Ignoring the sick feeling in his nonphysical stomach, he moved out of the way of his board of notes and slowly shuffled to a spot where he could view the scene in enough detail to take proper notes.
Garęihnȉh quickly snapped his fingers at the same time, signaling the demonstration to begin. On that cue, one of the "commoner" minions began singing Meshara's praises in a fake over-the-top happy tone peppered with dozens of made-up words that didn't make sense. Fe spoke of her kindness and generosity to the other minions, trying to get them to agree with feir about "how great of a leader [she was] becoming," feir heart beating about twice as fast as the revolutions of a race car's wheels vying for first place. Just like some of the villagers had agreed in the onscreen scenario, some of the volunteers agreed with feir, nodding and saying these same praises. However, curses slipped from the lips of other volunteer minions, which ignited the "fury" of those "in favor" of Meshara as a future leader. The former group argued back loudly, trying to shoot down the arguments of the latter, but the latter group wouldn't back down from their stance and started talking over the others. The furious shouts echoed across the room; ricocheting off the walls, slightly vibrating the glass, and awakening a dormant rumble from within the massage machine; shaking the brains of the rest of the people in the room (especially Grim and Érɨtaỏdiģriīyai, who each felt a violent tingling within their bones). The Reaper put his right auditory meatus close to the glass, struggling to catch every word of the "villagers'" heated conversation so he could record it as accurately as possible, but something grabbed hold of him midway through the process.
The fight was beginning to get physical, the aggressive din of furious blows being exchanged between the two parties. Angry red marks showed up on their skin again in a similar manner to the fight under the dark violet smog, the smell of unsanitary blood floated up to Grim's nasal cartilages, and the taste of their greasy sweat filled the room with an unsavory feeling of tension that caused other minions to gag and nearly pass out (especially those closest to the firepit). The sound of chipping bones welled up from the Inner Sanctum's floor, blasting the walls and ceiling like hail on a roof, and began bruising Grim's window like bullets from a Gatling gun pummeling a bulletproof vest. Garęihnȉh grinned sadistically as this all happened, a waterfall of saliva filling up his mouth and threatening to overflow its confines, and moved his lighted claw toward the enraged mobs brawling in front of him. "Now, here comes the fun part of this," he addressed everyone else in the room, nodding as their heads turning attentively toward the scene. "I hope you'll enjoy this as much as I do."
With that, he expanded the glow on the claw, creeping its rays upon all the volunteers, who began to suffer a similar process to what their boss had done to Tilmun earlier. A chorus of hissing fizzed up from the light and within their throats, climbing up toward the top of the flaming projector, and vibrating the end of Grim's scythe as he struggled against all the tension literally shaking his bones in his body. His periosteum was a series of tectonic plates rocking atop magma, his intangible veins pyroducts threatening to explode at any moment, his marrow unstable cores of fire and alkaline metals, and his eye sockets doorways into the deepest volcanic fissures of the earth as he leaned closer toward the glass for a better view of the chaos below. He spied a familiar blood-red glow rising from the minions' throats and reaching the air above the minions in the form of hot vapors, a sight that made him spring backwards in terror of the terrible events planning to wreak their havoc. His eye sockets sprung wide as if they were made of elastic, fresh with the fiery pain of being slain on the battlefield, as the fumes triggered an image of Garęihnȉh torturing Tilmun on the drawbridge in the Reaper's overloaded mind. "I...can't...watch..." he said to himself as he rushed back to his drawing boards, drawing the scene on some more sticky notes and writing down details about the smoke in an effort to distract himself from the powerful fear gripping his mind. But before he could finish, yet another blood-red flash pierced his view, demanding his attention once more.
The minions who had volunteered for the demonstration were sprawled in a huge pile on top of the floor, their limbs listless as they stared off into space around the room. Their eyes were wide open, twitching furiously as if they were bombs waiting to explode. Their angry marks were burning painfully on their skin, sending hot sensations throughout their bodies that kept them too confined to do anything. Garęihnȉh walked over and leaned his head toward them, waving his right index finger all over them. "Now," he said, his wicked grin growing wider by the second, "it is time for the real demonstration to begin." He dipped his fingers into the blood-red light and snapped them, prompting the sprawled minions (whose pupils had turned red) to stand up and look around the room in a similar manner to zombies looking for brains to eat. "Tetaārⱥvṟḯne! Do you have that bottle?"
"Right here, sir," the Victorian suit-wearing minion said, producing a bright orange bottle of light vermillion liquid and gold sparkles from inside his jacket.
"Good," the malevolent insectoid being responded. "Because it's time...for the fun to begin." He proceeded to take the bottle from Tetaārⱥvṟḯne, unscrew the top, pour about three tenths of the contents into the firepit, and wave some of the resulting vermillion fumes over the minions. "Attack the crowd! DESTROY THEIR CONSCIENCE!"
The corrupted minions did exactly as they were told, running toward those who hadn't volunteered for the demonstration. An aura of flaring vermillion energy surrounding them, they fought as hard as they did during the violet smog demonstration, flailing their arms and legs and swiping their nails across their opponents' skin. They punched and kicked and pushed and kneed the others, hoping to score bruising hits with their violent might and claim as many victims as they could rack up. The minions on the defense fought back with equal might, some of them scoring these desired hits, but many of them fell down, their pupils also turning bloodshot as they fell victim to the curse of mental fumes, their actions and dialogue controlled by the corruption that had overtaken their minds. From his little alcove, Grim observed the action and proceeded to draw pictures and take notes, filling in anything he missed from what he'd started about the corruption. He struggled to keep his pen as steady as possible as his fingers began slipping from his scythe and his wrists shook ever more violently, occasionally glancing around to make sure no one was watching him. Fearing his operation being exposed, he added some details for how to guide Meshara through this chaotic labyrinth, reassuring himself his counterplan would go smoothly and the world would be safe as a result of their combined efforts.
After a few minutes, the room was full of vermillion vapors, which heated the air much hotter than that inside a sauna. Many of its occupants had fallen victim to the corruption, their pupils now blood-red as a result of the curse that had broken down their mental resistance. The walls boasted a volley of holes as a testament to the great battle that had happened inside the very room that served as the starting point for the real thing to unfold. Several of the candelabras had even fallen to the floor, their metal a harrowing reminder of the future and realms at stake, not just of the physical worlds but of the mental ones and the morality of the residents as well. Grim looked around the room and observed the glowing red orbs, creating a mental picture of their owners at Meshara's confrontation. He copied these drawings on his sticky notes, writing additional notes about how to preserve one's sense of justice in such cases of pandemonium and disarray. As he was wrapping up, he saw Tilmun raise his hand.
"Yes, Tilmun?" Garęihnȉh asked, turning his head toward him.
"You said there was a part where I came in. When will that be?"
"It's coming up soon," the towering death lord responded. "Just hang on and we'll get to it." He raised both of his enormous claws up to the sky, directing all the reddish orange smoke upward. "I think everyone's seen enough of this demonstration. Judging by the looks on all your faces—well, most of them, anyway—it appears you want to see the corruption spread at that ceremony. Well, let's get this over with, shall we?"
Everyone except a handful of the room's occupants cheered in agreement, eager to see their roles in their superior's plan to wreak upon both the mortal realm and the world of the dead.
When all his minions had been returned to normal (that is, except the red pupils on those who'd had them since before the demonstration) and everything was back in place, Garęihnȉh walked back to the projector to finish explaining the second fun part of their plan. He motioned Tilmun to come up to the center of the firepit, waving some of the remaining vapor toward the Sumerian human to show him the important role he had to play in the plan. "Tilmun, my friend," he began, rubbing the human's shoulder with the tip of his ginormous claw, "you'll be our stand-in priest for the people of Uruk once we've taken care of Meshara. You'll assume the role of their leader while they go through their feelings of betrayal and astonishment, which will inspire them, to, let's say...reconsider their choice of passing you over for that position of high priest in that ziggurat."
"And if they don't?" Tilmun asked, going over the possible outcomes in his head.
"Then convince them of all the good deeds you have done," the evil death lord responded, stroking Tilmun's kanauke with his claw. "They'll recognize you for the man you used to be before you entered my employ all these years before. You've done a great job hiding the corruption in your heart from the people of the city, especially from Namkuzu, who supposedly speaks wisdom to the people of Uruk, which is a great feat in itself. I know you'll be the perfect person to finish the job."
"But what if they still favor Meshara?" the Sumerian mortal asked, worrying about the possibility of his true allegiance being discovered. "What if there are some who don't take my words seriously?"
"Then use this," Garęihnȉh replied, coalescing the vapors above Tilmun and directing them into an ornate decanter with elaborate golden designs covering the glass. "It will give them a taste of their vaporous medicine." He motioned Tetaārⱥvṟḯne to come over and hand him the decanter. "The corruption contained within this glass might not seem like much at first, but it's what's inside its core that matters," he began, holding the decanter above the crowd inside the room. "Once it's released, it'll spread like fire, and all who come in contact with it will be unable to resist its spell. Let me demonstrate it for you." He fired a spurt of gas into the crowd, which caused those who met its gaseous particles to undergo the same transformation they had undergone not long before. They walked up to their leader, awaiting his next commands.
"Let's say these people are the crowd you've succeeded in changing, Tilmun," Garęihnȉh said, directing the Sumerian mortal's gaze at them as he fast-forwarded the scene in the flaming projector to Meshara's ascension ceremony and put a flicker of his blood-red light inside. "They've successfully been captured and converted to your side, and they're ready to obey your commands. You talk to them about spreading their vision worldwide, to the rest of Sumer and beyond, and they'll be happy to oblige you."
"What exactly should I say?" Tilmun asked, looking at the red-eyed people inside the projector and seeing himself in the role that Garęihnȉh had planned for him.
"Tell them they'll meet new people," Garęihnȉh said, scratching his left prominent canine with his left index finger. "And say they'll be open to new ideas. That way, the corrupted ones will be ecstatic about the destruction they'll cause around the earth—of conscience, of morality, of faith; but most of all—the destruction of any semblance of doubt they might have serving their new supreme ruler, Garęihnȉh, the one with the greatest deeds in all of the recorded history of the world of the dead!" He expanded the scene on the flames with his claws to see a map of the world being gradually subsumed from the point of Uruk's location. "Repeat as many times as necessary until all the people of this pitiful surface world have fallen under your spell. When that is done, gather them all to me for their next commands, and then we'll get this show on the road!"
Grim observed the scene from his little alcove, writing down the last few details of his plan to warn Meshara about the danger coming her home's way, and pondering how that would work in throwing a wrench in Garęihnȉh's plans. He scribbled a few notes, describing the obstacles they would have to surmount in saving both worlds, and applied a few final sticky notes to his board, drawing his last few arrows and pictures to tie back to everything he had learned in the last few hours. As soon as he had finished all this, he looked down at the Inner Sanctum below him, where Garęihnȉh was returning the sprayed minions back to normal. "Soon, Meshara," he heard the evil death lord say with a menacing grin, "there will be nothing left for you to love once Tilmun makes his grand return, and there'll be no one to turn to once you inevitably make your damaging mistake. The entire community will rally against you with fury in their hearts, Namkuzu will have you dismissed without a second thought, and his former apprentice will lead the armies all across the world and they'll destroy all they can see in their path." The Reaper recoiled in terror as he heard the towering demonic being shuffle across the floor. "The world will be filled with animosity and hate, desiring greater destruction of life and love the further it presses on. And when that's over with, there will be no hope of resistance. With you and your foolish heart of compassion out of the way, the world will be plunged into an endless state of corruption, and I will rise from down below to begin the new regime. All of the mortal realm and the world of the dead will bow to me, Garęihnȉh, the Most Very. HONORED. SUPREME Lord...OF THE DEAD!"
Garęihnȉh laughed evilly as Grim watched worriedly, the others in the room except Érɨtaỏdiģriīyai and Tetaārⱥvṟḯne joining in as they relished the show they would soon prepare to get off the ground. They wickedly smiled, relishing all the destruction and disunity they would bring to the mortal realm, and let out their equally ecstatic spontaneous cries of joy at the pain they would cause the conscience of both worlds. They were ready to unleash their torrent of corruption across the land, determined to achieve at long last their long-pursued goals and clinch what Garęihnȉh perceived as his rightful place in history. But little did they know that Meshara had an unexpected ally in her quest; who was ready to help her protect the future of her people, her community, her kingdom, the pantheon, and all she loved and held dear; and ensure this would extend to the rest of the world. Taking advantage of this fact, Grim collected all his sticky notes and pen and began making his way out of the castle, his noncorporeal heart soaring at the positive impact his and Meshara's actions would guarantee for the people of Uruk and beyond. Doing so wouldn't be easy, but it would ensure the safety of the world (both mortal and underworld) for future generations to come.