5:6 Arrival 2: The Electric Boogaloo

My entourage entered the portal to the meeting room before me, and were already getting settled when I stepped through.

The room was very much what I remembered. A white circular chamber, a large round table in the middle, and twelve archways, one for each of the nascent universes that had started this trial. Two of them were dark now, and it didn’t take a god to know which those were for; the One World, and Sehuyun’s old universe. That was perhaps the first thing my senses caught, because it was the first thing I had been looking for. Their archways flanked my own, the pillars intertwining with the Four Realms arch in order to symbolize how I had taken control of them, how they had, while not merged with the Four Realms, become part of a larger system all together with the Four Realms and me as the center.

It was a very odd feeling, but there was no use hating what had happened; there was only moving forward.

The next thing I noticed was that, unlike last time, I was not the first to arrive. Four Origin Deities and their companions were already waiting. Two I knew well; I had seen them more recently than the others. The other two I had only met once, all those eons ago.

The Emperor, in all his glory — golden-skinned, four-armed, crown resting upon his head — reclined in his chair and nodded to me respectfully, eyes flicking once to the Oshun as she settled into her own seat, smaller than mine and less ornamental than it had been before, and then to Bashikhan, the great white crocodile-turtle easing himself onto a cushion that had been laid out for him. The glances were telling enough what he was figuring out, though his eyes lingered on my right sleeve, where Boitata was curled around my arm like some sort of living tattoo.

The other was Reilly, the beggar god of luck, who raised his gourd in a slight salute before downing it. Behind him stood the one who truly ruled his universe: an angel-like woman in gleaming armor whom I vaguely remembered, and whose name was, surprisingly, lost to me. It would take some effort to dig out of my memories. I had not thought I could forget things like that anymore – Pyrah! That was her name! I had nearly forgotten. I nodded to the woman respectfully, she inclined her head, and that, I supposed, was that.

Then there were the other two.

MR-10, the inverted floating pyramid whose realm I had never actually been to, God of Order, floated above its spot, a thousand lights flashing across its surface. Just as before, it had no other companions, only those spherical drones of its that were more avatars than companion. I could feel its scanners washing over me as I reclined, seeking to uncover what had changed within me. I let it scan.

And last was Nyxteria, the great bird of space and time, after whom Morgan had styled its own domain. Its wings spread as it regarded me with an unblinking eye, galaxies swirling beneath its feathers. Its companion, a living sun, swirled behind it, listening and absorbing information.

“You’ve been busy collecting things,” the bird called, clicking its beak at me.

I smiled thinly. “That had not been my intention. But what can I do? I had been faced with an impossible situation, with no pure solutions.”

“Nyxteria understands.” The great bird nodded its head sagely, talons clacking against its perch. “Nyxteria has been busy as well.”

“I am excited to hear all about it,” I said, truthfully, and settled down into my chair. It was not a grand throne, or anything of the like. I had not wanted that, but there was no denying that it was regal, and grand, in a simplistic way that still stated one simple thing; I was Everything, and I was Nothing.

It was a lot of metaphysical weight for a chair. But if anyone could design a chair that said that, Mr. Boxes could.

I looked to my left and to my right, at the two gods now beneath me in hierarchy, if not in truth, and at the others fanning out behind me. The Rival settled in behind my right shoulder, eyes always watching, Astraea behind the Oshun, hands folded, and Boitata, of course, still curled around my arm.

“I’m sure we all have many stories to share,” the Emperor said, voice booming, as commanding as I remembered. “Though I must admit, I am most interested to hear what has happened to you, Statera Luotian. You are far different from what I remember and last I recall you were facing not one but two calamities.”

“Indeed I am, and indeed I was,” I agreed. “Only through perseverance and no small amount of luck did we overcome those trials…But I’m sure these two will want to share their stories as well.” I gestured to the Oshun and Bashikhan. “I do not fully speak for their universes.” And I left it at that, not quite sure how to continue that train of thought because in some ways continuing felt like the beginning of a lie, and that was something I tried not to do. At least to myself. “Still, though. The table could always use some refreshments.”

Before I could wave my hand, Reilly snapped his fingers, and dozens of kinds of alcohol filled the great round table, followed by what could only generously be called bar food. Nuts and crackers and snacks of all sorts, one to accompany each type of liquor.

“Way ahead of you, Stat,” Reilly said with a wink. I chuckled at him, stroking my chin and almost surprised to find stubble there, as I considered what to add of my own creations, to compliment Reilly’s. In the end, I decided to offer different things entirely, simply for the many varying tastes that would be sitting at the table.

Fine herbal teas rich with qi, and various other delicacies of the Four Realms placed themselves between Reilly’s offerings, filling the room with the scent of power and enlightenment. The Oshun joined in, creating baskets of beautiful, nutritious pastries; form, function, and beauty all in one. Bashikhan watched, perplexed. MR-10 abstained from adding anything, as it had previously, being a machine. Even the Emperor added his own offerings with a wave of his hand.

And then the next of us arrived in a flash of light, floating through their own portal.

The Progenitor. A single scintillating ball of the purest light of creation, accompanied once again by its strange six-legged, white-winged beast, armored and plated with snow-white bone armor. Though there were touches of darkness on it now, like chain mail beneath the plate.

“I see that this has not changed, despite how much has, between all of us,” the Progenitor said, in that rhythmic cadence of his, as he observed the table.

“Progenitor,” the Emperor greeted. “We have all grown.”

“Though perhaps, none as much, as Statera,” the Progenitor noted, and I could feel its attention washing over me.

Like before, I did not make it a mystery who or what I was. I let them look, and get lost in the sea of my power while my own eyes peeled back the layers of mystery they all tried to drape over themselves with ease. Though…perhaps not as easy as it was before; I could not see what sub-domains they had developed, what specialties they had created like my Eyes or the Oshun’s Beauty.

“In terms of raw power, well, I will save my judgment for later,” the Progenitor continued, pulling its attention away from me, the feeling leaving my skin tingling.

“That is probably for the best,” I agreed.

And so it continued, each of the remaining Origin Deities arriving in turn.

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Shin, the skeletal Deity of the Cycle, came next, with Ze, his right hand, appearing beside him clad in those dark robes she always wore. He looked a touch worse for wear, his robes raggedier than they had been, the smoke billowing off his bones denser and deeper, the emerald fire where his eyes should have been a touch angrier. He gave me a small bow as he sat, repeating the motion for a few others, but not all, notably ignoring MR-10.

Then came Sylphina, the chaos butterfly, who settled upon her perch with wings spread wide, accompanied by a ruby red flower with a dozen petals.

Comments and greetings went around after that, as we waited for the next. Eyes always seemed to come and settle on me for a touch longer than on anyone else, which I had expected.

Next came the great stag of Wisdom, Rising Wind, Crashing Waves, with his centaur hunter companion. Rising Wind’s antlers showed new marks and nicks in the bone. The elemental gems were still studded upon the great things, and his hide was marked by scars he seemed inordinately proud of — one of which, he boasted, the centaur had given him. He seemed pleased about it, which surprised me honestly, but then again I’d never understood their relationship. The creator god was a Stag, and one of his first creations was a centaur that tried to hunt him? I would have never considered that.

And then we were all there. All eleven of us, plus out additions, the twelfth’s chair empty, just as it had been last time.

Conversation rippled through the room as we caught up with one another. I chatted with Shin and Reilly and MR-10 simultaneously, through different thought threads, private conversations layered over one another, all of us waiting patiently for Mr. Boxes, the Overgod, to begin the session. Reilly had expanded his Seven Heavens, Shin was discovering what the shape of his Shadow truly was, and MR-10 and I discussed the merits and failings of pure Order over my own Balance.

So it came as some surprise when the twelfth universe’s portal sparked to life.

Every conversation in the room died at once. Even Boitatá poked his head out of my sleeve to watch the newcomer, no, newcomers, as they emerged from the portal.

The first was something akin to a man. Pale, dead skin with a slightly purple hue. Bone on the wrong side of the skin — not exposed, as though the flesh had been peeled away, but as though the bone had simply grown too far out. A spine stuck from the back of his neck, vertebrae visible. His forehead was too large, a massive bone plate jutting forward, etched with what could only be sickly green runes of power and magic. Bone showed at the tips of his fingers, flesh beneath it. He was clad in a heavy red and black robe, chains draped around his waist and shoulders and arms, hands pressed together as if in prayer. Horns of a bronze-like metal floated off his forehead, tipped with green fire. His eyes were, surprisingly, normal. Brown. One could almost mistake them for kind eyes — save for the intensity with which he looked about the room as he settled, silent, into one of the two chairs that had appeared before the twelfth portal.

Shadow, my mind supplied, because there was nothing else he could be. Undeath. Not death — undeath. That was what my eyes saw.

Then my attention flicked to the next.

And this one, when he emerged, I felt. Heard. Saw. Understood. And immediately warned myself of.

The Rival stiffened beside me.

He was larger than the other, taller by a head and a half. His skin was the deep, rich purple of a nebula, twisting and writhing like something gaseous. His eyes were the color of glittering white stars, hair as black as night and falling to his waist. Every tiny movement set his muscles to rippling, almost obscenely so, like the statue of a Greek god come to life and made of stardust. It seemed somehow pretentious and still a work of art, and spoke of meticulous care. A reed hat sat atop his head, and around his waist a raggedy loincloth that covered his delicate bits and left his muscular legs on full display rested, the simplicity of his garments at odds with his carved body. His chest, just behind the sternum, glowed occasionally with the light of a true sun.

He stood behind the two chairs, in the middle — clearly the companion that had been brought — and radiated an aura of eternity that eclipsed everyone in the room...subtly so, though, and I wondered how many others caught it.

Even if the Rival had not been present, I would have been able to figure out who this was.

The First.

I could see the tether to his soul ball — the same thing that bound the Rival, that bound all Monkey Wrenches to their eternal cycle of endless reincarnation through the multiverse — drifting off his back and away into the portal, back toward the twelfth universe.

The First's eyes drifted about the room, blank and dead-looking, honestly. They hesitated once on the Rival. Then on the Oshun. Then passed over me completely and stalled on the Emperor.

Then came the third, and him I immediately found amusing — because in this room full of characters, full of crazy beings, and I was not so unselfaware as to fail to realize I was one of those crazy beings, he struck me as a normal man.

Sun tanned skin. Brown hair. Brown eyes. A little goatee and mustache. The light of godhood drifting gently off him. He was dressed in fine ceremonial armor of silver and blue that had clearly never seen battle, and beneath it were calloused, hard hands that said he had seen otherwise. If I didn’t know better, I would have called him human, his design was so simple.

He flicked out his cape almost uncomfortably, as though unused to wearing it — a dark blue thing he smoothed to keep from dragging on the floor.

“Apologies. Are we late?” he asked.

And I understood him immediately, because he did not try to hide it. Not that hiding would have helped, but that wasn't the point. Life and death and that endless cycle. Reincarnation and rebirth. He was that. He was the Light of the twelfth universe, and the Shadow was undeath, that which denied the cycle, with the First between them.

“You are not.” The Emperor’s voice rolled out across the chamber, the sound of a thing that had never needed to ask twice, more forceful than I had ever heard him. “We have not yet begun. Sit. Eat. And do us all the courtesy of giving us your names. We will give you ours.”

“I am Licht,” the armored man said, settling into his chair and, to my amusement and slight pity, sweating. “It is a pleasure to meet you all.”

And he said no more. Not because he had nothing more to say — I could tell that he did — but simply because he was not sure what else to say from behind his normal-man persona. I could see the weight of what he carried pressing upon his shoulders like a boulder. He did not want to give away too much to people he did not know. Any of us might be enemies.

“I am S,” the shadow replied.

“How dramatic,” Reilly drawled. “Is that short for anything? Sexy? Savage?” He winked.

The Shadow did not so much as splutter, simply fixing the god of luck with a flat, dead stare. “I do not like your kind,” he hissed. Well. At least he was honest.

Reilly cackled.

“And I am but a humble fisherman,” the First replied.

And while there was no lie in those words, not at the present moment, I could see the layers they covered up and the magic within them.

“The First, humble fisherman,” he admitted after a heartbeat. A game. This was a game to him.

“I’m gonna call you Fishy,” Reilly drawled. “Can we get this show on the road?”

“No, no,” I said. And because I was tired of games, I called the First out on it. “He said it, Reilly. His name is the First, comma, humble fisherman. Not the First Humble Fisherman. Isn’t that right? It isn’t polite to try and trick us through wordplay.”

The First’s eyes fixated on me for just a moment, and he dipped his head in apology. “I meant no deception.”

I snorted, a distinctly derisive sound, and crossed my arms, letting all pretense fall away for just a moment. “No. None was meant. But you knew what it would do anyway. Just because you did not mean deception does not mean you do not know exactly what those words would do.”

“A bit of deception is to be expected from one so young, Statera. Let him have his fun.” the Oshun said mildly, putting a hand on my arm. So she, at least, didn't see the First for who he is. Or is pretending not to.

I said nothing in response to that, only stared at the First, until the Rival relaxed behind me and the First acquiesced with a small nod.

“So be it,” he said, and settled back.

Satisfied, I turned to the others, many of whom were watching me out of the corners of their eyes, as if uncertain what I was doing. It was truly nothing against the First, but I did want him to know I saw him. That his game was seen. And now it was my turn.

"My name," I began. "Is Statera Luotian. Pleasure." One by one the other Origins introduced themselves, greeting the newcomers, until it was all over and done with.

“Well. That’s done,” I said. “Shall we get this show on the road? What’s on the docket for today, Mr. Boxes?”

I looked up, because I could feel his attention shift to us the way I always could, and saw the spark of electricity that ran from wherever his avatar sat to suddenly Ding! into existence as boxes for all to see.

[Welcome to the second Origin Deity meeting. This officially marks the end of [Stage Two] and [Three], and the beginning of [Stage Four] — at which point, after this meeting, you will all be given the opportunity to increase trade and contact with one another. This will be a scale model trial of the multiverse, which will then allow me to determine which universes will go where within the multiverse at large. So please quiet down, settle in, and sit back, because we have a great deal of preliminary information to cover before we get to the most pressing parts of the meeting.]

I settled back in my chair, crossed my arms, and listened, and read.

Mr. Boxes had not mentioned anything about the Cocoon Protocol. No mention that it had been activated, nor what it truly was.

And that, for sure, was something I would be questioning him on.