The laughter faded and Suvacel stood for a moment illuminated in a fell glow. The very essence of material reality itself became gossamer, a fragile fabric easily capable of being warped and woven to her will. In her moment of triumph she then felt........something.....moving, whether dream or waking was not clear. Indeed, Suvacel did not know if what she saw was dream or that halfway state between dreaming and waking.
As she lifted the gauntlet of her revised armor to place it on her hand, the last piece needed to fully enclose the newborn colossus, darkness fell in a room lit bright enough that even a non-metanormal eye would have seen every fleck of dust in the room, every piece of detritus from the machine that was forged. In the darkness suns burst into light and a sound halfway between thunder and footstep echoed.
Doom Doom.As the face lit by the eldritch light of the twin suns came into prominence, she heard a mocking voice that echoed into the very depths of her soul. The rumbling sounds were partially in audible syllables to many non-metanormals, partially in infrasound, and partially the wailing and crying of the soul and the mind that encountered the endless depths of cosmic malice high and remote.
Beware seeking after knowledge that was never yours to claim. A valley of death dawns before you. But beware, for you are merely the product of Hezhatin's folly. A device of the Vats. Your very existence is the product of designs of which you know nothing.Before you stands the Lightdancer, but you shall see and come to understand the Flame Imperishable that burns with fire that does not quench, a light that brings paradise beyond understanding. Everlasting light and life and laughter without tears, without sorrow, without sin. Renewal for the healing of the nations, all basking in the glory that is praised without ceasing that rides on the clouds of the Heavens, instilling the power of thunder and lightning, setting the stars themselves into motion.
Who is like the Flame Imperishable? Who may give it counsel? Beware, for you and yours have grasped the vices of standing for the weak but tilting the scales in the favor of the strong. Your deeds are befouled before the Heavens themselves, and when the light most glorious shines signs and wonders shall mark the emergence of newer and more terrible aeons.
The vision seemed to fail leaving only a strange chill, before one last flash of a tall Baranik of strangely pinkish hue, an oddly dish-shaped face, and two unnaturally crystalline blue eyes that gazed with a sinister smile that reached from ear to ear, vanishing with a set of strange afterimages. Suvacel shook her head. Well, what did one expect when dealing with technology from other dimensions, exactly, if not manifestations from those dimensions?
It couldn't be helped, but it did offer quite a bit of potential for the future......
And as she laughed once more, she felt inwardly an emotion she was not used to feeling. True, genuine fear.
The Restorationist Camp:
Hezhatin, come forth!
The echoing voice of the Lightdancer called her and Vizhornii Hezhatin had no choice but to obey. The being remained tall and eeriely like the talking apes of the planet Tamir III, but chalky white in hue. Nine golden suns turned to her.
With preternatural swiftness the Lightdancer grasped her around the throat, levitating high into the sky. The voice of the Lightdancer echoed within her mind and soul, more than her ears.
Give me one reason I should not kill you, creation of my sister.
Hezhatin's eyes blazed.
From my father's stories of you, I know that you spent years in Azarath but did not emerge from it corrupted by the monster, so why should I not be given the same expectation?
The Lightdancer's voice rumbled:
The power that consumes all before it that I wield gives me immunity to those fools who would control my mind and body. What such power have you that I should trust your willpower to withstand the effects of Azarath?
Hezhatin growled and then spoke once more:
"Because I would die rather than let that creature control anything of my life."
The Lightdancer laughed for a second:
That is the way of Azarath. Its spawn long for death yet cannot die, are given paradise and strength unrivaled and long for the everlasting rest of the grave. They do so not from choice but compulsion.
Squeezing somewhat more tightly around Hezhatin's throat, the Lightdancer then said:
As you're incapable of doing this.......
Hezhatin's eyes then changed color and for a moment her skin and form changed, not to a form known to material reality but one that transcended it.
A rumbling voice then boomed from the transformed entity:
My maker mixed into me the essence of the Gate and the Key. Next to the Gates of Yog-Sothoth, what is Azarath?
The Lightdancer smiled and then released her.
Good answer. Now, I shall see how I may set things to rights.