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Intestines were scrawled all over the assembly floor like the nonsensical doodles of a macabre child. Edora stared, stock still and trance-like at them, trying to make sense of the doodles, trying to find a picture or words while the screaming and chaos carried on around her. Not too far away from her, a space cruiser was lifted into the air by a seemingly invisible hand, and smashed against the ground, over and over. The smell of urine filled her nose, and she looked up at last, to see Foreman Richards floating in the air, screaming, as his skin was peeled slowly, carefully, from his flesh. His skinless body was placed carefully and softly in an empty spot on the floor, completing the incomprehensible picture. He shrieked in pain, and then he didn't, and was silent.

The day had started out so normal. She woke up in the little cubby she called a room, got ready in the community bathrooms for Voyagers Inc. employees, ate in the cafeteria, and came onto the production floor. Foreman Richards was telling her about the top secret military ship she would be testing out, and how there was a risk of death. She hadn't been listening, she had been watching her father and her uncle walking in a hallway on the other side of the observation glass. She was used to the risk of death, and top secret technologies and ships. It was mundane. Death was nothing that she feared.

Her father, the head of Cosway Productions, was a human named Leroy Cosway. But the Family was to call him Zeus. The Family is what the network of illegal and disreputable dealings and dealers was called, instead of "gang" or "mafia". The heads, with their legal company fronts, were called the names of Greek gods, symbolizing their arrogance. Poseidon, her uncle Gerald Cosway, was the CEO of Voyagers Inc., and was showing her father the newest in top secret military dealings for the galaxy's top interstellar vehicle company. She was not special - in fact, she was a bastard born of one of Zeus's porn models, though he did not formally own YumZvid. One of many, genetically altered in the womb and raised to work (technically, of her own free will, not slavery) for the Family. For her uncle, in this case. It was the perfect system. The thrill of adulterous unprotected sex with a beautiful woman, followed by a specimen his sister Demeter could test new genemods on, and then a free employee/soldier loyal to the Family from birth. It was a fun for him, and good for the family.

Loyal was maybe not the right word. But even as she watched her so called Family with dispassionate eyes, she knew that she would never leave the Family. What reason had she? Sure, her room was small, but she was provided access to community luxuries that others would die for. She had nothing to gain by leaving... especially since they wouldn't let her. It wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth even thinking about freedom. So, she nodded along to the foreman's words, signed the paperwork, and climbed into the surprisingly small prototype ship. It had the basic functions of a small crew ship, but is was as small as a two-story house. She had been getting herself situated when the screams started. She looked up, and her screen immediately turned red. Blood on the cameras. She ran to the hatch, and got caught up in the morbid beauty of the intestines.

The chaos around her was not only senseless, but also made no sense. It was almost as if an invisible, giant Cephiloid child, with their many head-tentacles, was using the people and ships like toys. Ill-treated toys. A ship wobbled through the air, and she could almost hear the raspberry-like sounds people still used. People were methodically taken apart and dissected, the iconic boy and butterfly. Another screaming person was being puppeted about, but the invisible force tried to make his body move in ways that were... physically possible, at the expense of health and sanity. And life.

She felt something drip on her face, and smelled it before she could wipe it off and look at her finger. She took a step back and looked up, finally, from the intestines, to see a skeleton, with organs where they should be, but no blood, and no muscles but eyes. The eyes rolled around in their sockets, silently screaming, voicelessly begging for the death they should have had far before this point. As its bowels emptied themselves, the only relief it could find, she felt herself moving. She was in the ship again, the hatch was closed, and she had buckled herself up, routine working on auto-pilot. She passed her hand through the magnetic button, waking up the ship, and used the intuitive holoconsole to quickly get it to start rising in the air. Words flashed in her mind, as she recalled Foreman Richards explanation. Universal warping technology? She looked, and the glowing screen was waiting, prepped for testing. She reached for it

̵͢T͘h͡è̢ ͠Ȩ̶yé ̨͠͝L̵̀͠oo̡͠k̵̷e̡d̵͏ ̴̛a̧͘͡ţ̴̀ ͏́heŗ́.͡ ̨͞Èy̛é̕s̴̵͢.̢͠ ̴͟It͝ wa͘s ҉st̷̸i҉̡l̛҉l̶͝ ̵̢̀i̢n̸v͟i̧̨ś̛ibl̶͢e̛͟, ̛͜à́͟s̕͡ ̡͠t͘h͢͝e̸ŕ̨e w͡҉a̛͠s̕ ̧n҉̨ǫt̢́hį̵͞n͞͠g̶̨͟ ͏̧f̸ơ͞r͡͞ ̶th͟è ͏l҉̷͜i̴̶gḩ͜͠t͢ ̨t̕͡o b̕͜ơu̢ǹ̶će̛̕͡ ̷o͢f̧f̷͘ ̡҉o͟f̵̀.̕ Í̕t̶̛͜ ̶͠w̧͞a͟͞s͏n'̧̨t̶ ͟he҉ŕ̨e͏́,͢ ͟͞a͢f̕͞͝t̢́e̢͟r̵͞ ͡͏a̛͘l̸̴͠l̢͜.̨ ͘Ìt͟͠ ̵͘h̴͘ą͢d́͜ ͏̶n̶o̶̵͠ ̸̴e͏ye̶̛s,͡ a̴͟ņ̛͘d̵͡ ̵i̸̢t̵͜͝ ҉L̸̨oǫ̸k̢ed̸ ̶͏a̴̶͠t̢͞ ḩ͏̶e͝r͜.̛͡ ͜͝͏T̨́h̶eré͜ ̵̧w̛a͘s̡ ̢n̢͢͠ot̴҉h̷͏ing̷̡.̶ ͟S͝h̴̨e͝ ̴̡͏w̶a̛͝͞s ̕i̡n͝ ą ̧͝r҉̸͟o҉͟om̡͜ ̛́͜wi͟th̛́ ̸̀̕n̡ớ w̢͠al͠ls̀҉͢,̵̧ f̢͡l̡͝҉o͘oŗ ̸͞ór̀́͘ ͞c͝e͢͠i̡l̵̵͞i̴̛n͞g͝.̡́͟ ͘҉̶Aņ ͠e͘nd̷͞͝l͜ȩ͏ss w͢͢h̴i̵̕tę͝.̶͢͢ ҉Sḩ͢e̴ ̛c̵a̸śt̡̢͟ ̵͘n҉̶o ̀͘sh҉̷́ad̕̕͠o̸͟ẃ͏.̸҉ ̷Sh͠͞͡e̡͞ ̕h͠a̴͝d̴͝ ͏̕n͟o ̕̕bo̕͡d̡̧ỳ͘͡. ͟Ş͏̸h̢͘͢é ẁ̷á̡́s̸̸͡ ̵͘n̢o̕ţ́͢ḩ̶i͟͟n͝g͏.̨̨ ̸͜T̴̷͟hi̵s̷͢ ̛͏̀w̴a͏͏s̵͘ ҉̛a̕l̶̶ĺ t͘͟h̸͜e̶͏r̶̷e͝͏ ͝w̨͜͜a͜͠s̕͡ ̡a̕n̵̛͝d̨ ͏w̴o͏̵̸u̡͠l̡d͘ e̛̕v҉eŗ ͘͠b̴̨̀e. ͡À̸̢lo҉̶n͡҉̶e̷̶ ̧̕o̶͘n̨͠l̴̀͠y̶̨ ͝e̵̶͠x́͝i̴st̕͏͠s҉̧̢ ̛́͢i̷f͠ t́h̢e͡r̶͏̸ȩ ̸̢̀i҉ś̸͞ ̀s̡o̸̢̨m͜e͘̕t́͏͡hin͞g̢ ͡t͏o͘ ̸́͡b́e͏́ i̸ş̶͢o̡҉l͢à̴t͟ed̛ ͡f̸̢r̕o͢͏m̛.͏ ̧͠Sh͏͏̀ȩ̴͘ ̢̕h̸͢a͠d̷̶͝ d̸r̷e̴͟͟à̶̛m̷͝è̵d̷,͏̧ ̡͘͡sh̵é̵ ̢̧́h͠a͟͡͡ḑ ̡͟ḩ͞a̸͞l̕l͢ù͢͜c̛i̷͠ńa̡̛t̶e̛͘d͠,̧͜ ̀an̡d̴͠͠ n͘͏̵o̢w̧̨ ͜s͝҉̕h̨e͝ ͢͢w͜as̷ ̢͝a̢wà̶k̸̕e͝͝͞,̵҉ ͘͞͞a̧n͜d͡ ̧҉w͡o̵uĺd̸ ͜n̵̶e̴v̡̛e͝͠r̨̧ ͞dr͏e̸͘a͝m.̵͢͞ ̧T́h̨̨e͡ ̴̶pá̵҉r̢t̢̛ ̴̷͘o͞҉f̶̛ ́͜h͘͡er̴ ̕҉̨t́͡h͏a̶̧t̶̡͠ ̨͘͠d̀r҉̧e̢a̢̢̨m̀ęd̷ ̧͡a̧ ͘ẁo̢r̴̢͡l͟͡d͏̴̛,͘͜ re͠a̧l̷ì͠͡t̢̡͏y̕̕,́͘ ͟w͡às͏ ̕͝n̸ot̸͡ ̧h̴͞ere̕.̶͡ ͢͏S͘h͏͝e̛͝͡ ̧w̨͝o̷u̢l͝͞d҉̀͡ ̧̡ǹ͞ȩ̴v̵́e͢r҉ ̧͟͝m̛͟éè́t̡ t̶̸̢h̶͝͝at̵͟͡ ͏h̶̕ȩ̴̶r̢͜,̡ ́s͏͢h͞͏e͠͏ ҉̵͜w̨̧o͞ul̨͝d̸ ̢͞n̷e͏͢͝v̛e̵̕̕r̡͘ d͏͠r͏͟e̶a͜͜m̡͝,̷̧ ́a̵n҉d̢͟͏ ҉nów͝ ̵̕ş̸h̀͘҉e͜҉̕ k͡҉̢n̶̨̛e͞w͘͡ w̡͝hát͟͝ ̧̕͢i͠͏t͘͟ ̨me̶͝͡á͜n̷̢t̀͝ ͞t̸̛̕ǫ͠͠ ̀b҉̷e ́͡A̢͢l̷͟o̢n̛ę̀,́ ̵w͘i͞th̀͜ ͝͞n҉͢͝o͟ ̨e̶̴͢n͝d́ ͢͜i̕n̡͟ ̵͟͠s̴͝i͝ģ͝h̷t̀. ̢̡́L͘o҉̷n͏̵͞è҉̕l̡͢͞iņ͢es̨s҉͝. ̀͠҉A͏̧l̵̢o̸̷n̡̕͢e͘.̷ ̀I̴͢s̀͜ol̡͘a̡͘͠t͏iǫ̀n̛͢͏. ͏̧͞Aļ͜͝o҉̡ǹ̡͠e͏̧.̸̧ ͘Ò͡ǹ̨̡e҉.́ ͟A̴̴̡l̶̢̧o͘n͏͘҉e̢.̀҉ E҉m̶p̧̀͡t̡̨͘i͠͝n̢̛͢es̷s.҉̸ ͜A̡͘l̵̕on̡e̶.̸̵ ͢A͝l͜͠͏ơ̢͡ne̸͢.̸͏̀ ̸Á҉͡l͏̕͠o͢͞n͝e̢.̵͢ A̧l̵ơ̢̡n͘e̸҉.̛͡ ͜͞A͏lo͠ńè̵̷. ̕͟A͏l͢ơ̡ń̶͠e.͏́ ̴̶́A̵l̕͏̷o̢n҉̵e͡.́͝ Alo̡n͏e̴̴.͞ ̸A̡l̷̨on̕e҉. ̴̀Al͢͠o҉̡n̶e͝.͏̶ ͡Al̴o̡n̕͝͏e̛.̶ ́͡A̶̸͜l̡̕o̸n҉̡è̢.̷̴͡ A̢҉l͏o̧҉n͏é͞.͝ ̀A̴l̵̕͜on̕e͏.͜ A͜͢l̶̢͞o͡n͟e. ̷̀A̛͡l̡̧on̴̴̡e͢.̸ Ą͏lơne͠.̶̕͞ ͘͠A̴҉lo̕͠n̢͟e.̷͘ ͠A͜͝lo̕͝ne͜͏.̢̡̀ ́̀A̴̷l̨̢o͢n̢̧e̶͟.̷ ͏̶̢A͏loń́̕e͢͠.̷̷͡ ̷̵͜A͟lơ̴҉n̛͘e͜͠.͟͠͞ ̵A͜҉l̸͟o҉̨̨n̴͘e̕.͢͞ A̶l͡͠o͞ń̴̛e.̸ ̨́A͢lóne͜҉̡.̶̨́ ͘͝Al̛͞͡o҉̸n̶e͟.͜ ̴A҉ĺ̸o͘ne͟. ̸̢A͝l̸͝one͟.̀͏ ̕A̡̕l̴͢͝on̨ę͏.͏̸ ̶̸Aļ̡̧o̧̕͟n̶͠e.̕͠ ̢Á͜l̨̨͡on̨͢e͏͝.̷͜͡ ̶A̢͘l̀͝ó̴̷n̕͝҉e. A̶̧ļon̶͏e͏͢.͜͝ ̕̕Ąlo̴̶̕ńe̶̢.͏ ͏҉Ąlo̷̕n̨͡҉e̷̢.͟ ́A҉͞l̛͢͢o͠n̶e̸͟.̢͠ Al͟͟o͟n̸̴͏e͢͞.͜ ̷͘A̴ļo͡҉ne̡͏.͜ ̧͘Al̵̕͢ǫ̸ne̕̕. ̢A̸͝l̢o̵n͟e̶.̸̶ ̶A͜͜l͟o҉né̷͡.҉ ́̀A̴ļo҉n͜è͢.̨ A͠lo̢n̷҉e̢.̕͢ ́A̵ĺo̴n͏e͢͏. ̨́͠A̛l͢on͜e҉.̨͏ A̡l͏̨͠o̴͟n̢͢e̛͏.̵ ̧A͡͠l͏͢o̢͜n͘͞e̸.̀̕ ͞A̷lo̴͠ņ̕e͡.̨͟ ̢̕A̴l͘͞o҉̨n͟e̴.͝ ̶̡A̕l҉́͘o̶̡n͢é͘.̴̀͜ ̶̴A͡l͠͠on̴̨͠è͞.̵ ͏̸̸Ál̀o͞ǹ̶e̢.̷͡ ̵͝A̴͡͡lo̶̡n͡e̢.̸ ̛A̧͠҉l͘o͟n͟e͢.̵ ̛A͜l̢̕ò́ń͠e.̢ ͝A̵͢l͞ò͜n̕e. ̶͜A̕͞l̶͘o̸̸n͏̧e.̵̛͘ ̨͢A̧̧l͜͟͜o̢̕͟n͟e̡̕.̶ ͏A̷̸ĺ̛o͟n͢e̶.̕͘ ̴͞Ą̀l͜҉o҉n̨͟e̕.̷ ̢̀͜A͘͞҉l̡o̕né̀.̕ ͟Á̢l̶o̡̡͝ne̸̢͠.͜͠ ̧̢A͝l͘o͘͏n͝e͏.̨͢ ̵͘͠A͘͠͝l̢͜o҉ń̵̸e̸̷.̶̷ ͏͢҉A̶͝ĺ̷͞o͢ne.͜͠ ҉͏A͞lon̶e҉́͡.̧͟ ̛̕A͟͝͝l̶o̢n̵e̸͟.̴͏̀ ͢͡A͝ĺ́o̢̨ǹe͞.̷̶ ̨A̵͝l͘o͠ne͢͟.̴͡ ҉̵A͏͞l̸͢o̴̵͡n̢e̶.̴ ̶͞A̴l̵o̶ǹ̢̛e̢.͜҉ ̵̶Al̷̀o͡n̴e̢. ͏A̸l͞͏o̸n҉e̡̕. A̢͠l̶̨o͝n̨̕ȩ̸͞. ̢̀Al͟͠o̵̢n̢͜͏e͠.͏̧ ̢͞A̵͟l̶̸̡o̸n̷҉e.̛͞ ̧A̶ļ͘o͏̴͜n̡͜e̕̕̕.́͜͢ ͘͏A̡l͞o̴͝͡ņ̴͟é.͟ ̸͝Al̢ò̴n̴è.͞ ͢A̸̛͏l̡o͏̢͢n̷̕͡e͡͡.̡ ̢́͜A̡l͞ǫņe.̷ ̛͠͞A̡͏͞lo͢ņe̶̡.̡̀ A̢͢ļo̕͢͞ǹ̢͟e.̷͡ ̡Al̵̸o҉͏͞n͡ę̷.̷̡͘ ̡҉A͠l͝ò̧̀n̸e.͢͟ ̕͟Al̕o͡n̕e̸͘.͠ ͢A̵̡͘lo͜͞n̵̶̕e̶. ̨̛͢A̷͘lon̴͜e̡͝͠.̛ ̛Al͟o̶͝n̶̢̕e͏͜.͟ ̷̀͘A̷҉lon͡e̢.̵̀ A̛͢l̸o̵ń͢é. ̨͢҉A̷l̸̶͡óne҉̡.̢͡ ̧A̵҉̕lơ͘ne͏̨.̷̡ ̵̛͝Á̕l͜o̢҉͘n̷̶e͜.̢ A̢͞l̨͞òne͜. ́͡A̵͞l̛͜onè.̵͟͜ ͡A͢͠l̷̵o҉n͞e͟.̶ A̶̶͜ló͢n̴͘e͡҉. ͘A̸l̸͘ò͞n̵̸e̡͡.̧ ̸҉A̧̡l͜͞ón̶̶é͟͝. ̷̷͢A̴l̨͢on͞e.̷ A̕҉l͞ǫ̶͞n̵ę͟.̷̴͟ ̧Aĺ̡o͟ne͘҉.̶͠͏ ҉̸̡Ą̷̧l͟͟҉o͠n̛e҉. ̵͡Al̀͞͝o̢n̛͜͟è͘.̕ ҉̵A̴l̢̡ơn̴e. ̴̕͢A̷͡l͢o̶͘n͘͞e.̨ ̕A̶͘l̴͢o̷͟n͞e̢.̕ ͏A͜l͘͟o͟n͞è.̀͢ ̀͟A̛͜l̕on̸e.̡ Aĺ̸o̢͢ņ̴͜ȩ͡. A͘l̷ơņ̡̛e͏. ͏A̡̕l͘͢ǫ͏ńe̕.̨̛͝ ̶Ą̧͟lo̷ne̷̵̕.̢ A̢ļo͏͘n̢è̕. ̡A̧̨͏l̛̕o͟ńe.̷̀͝ ̴͠Alǫn͘e̸̸͘.̨ ͜A͘l̀́o̢ne͜.͘ ̕A͡l̵͜o̷ne͞. ͏À̷̀lo̵͟ne͜. ̧A̴̢͡l̨̕o҉҉ǹe̷.̧ ̵A͘͜ĺon͘ȩ́͡.̢̧̕ ̨À͜l͠o҉̀ne̕.̸̀̕ A͝͝͏l͝ò͢n͢҉e̴͠. ̷͜͜Al͠ơ͏n͟͝ȩ̷.̸͝ ̛͝A̶̛͝l̢͟o͢͝n͝e.̸͝҉ ̷A̷lo͜nę͘. ̵͏A̛͞l̵̸o̢̡͏n͘͘e.̢̛ A̶l̸͜o͢ǹ̸̵e͜҉.̴̧ ́͟A͜͟l͡o͏̷ņ͞ę̛.̶̴ ͏Aĺo͠n̶e͟.̶̛ ͜͡A̷̷͞lo̴̷n͜e̡͢.̕̕ ͘Aĺ̛ò͟͝ne.̸̶ ͠Al̵͝ǫn̸̕͝è̛.̡̛ ͞A̶̸͝l͢͢o̷ne̵.͞͏̶ A̸҉l̷ơ̷ņ͝ę́.͡͏ A͏͟l̷҉͏o͟͜ne̕͞.̛ A͘͞l̛o̢n̵͟e. ͞A̸l͢͝o̶̷ń̛ȩ. ̨̕A͠l̸̨͟o̕n̷͞e.͜ ̨A̡̡͠l̛͟o̸̶̡n̴͘͠ę.̸ ̷͢A̢lon̨̕e̸̡.̧͡ A҉̕l̷͝o̧n͝҉e͘͏͢. ̧̧A͏̶l̀o͢ǹ̨e͝.͞ ̨͜A̴̵l͝on̡e̛.͟͝ ̵̶Al͞o͘ne͡.͏̀ ̨͘̕Àlò͝n̵e̵͝.̴͡ ̨̨A̷lo͜ǹ͝é͞.̕ ̸͠A̧͘ĺ͞ò̢nȩ̡́.̵̡ ͘A̵lon͏̸̀e͡.̡̀͢ A҉ļ̧o̶͞ņe̵͟͢.́ Á̀l͢on̶͞e͢͢.͡ ̀Al̶͜on͢͏̢e͏͝.̵ ͝A̸l͡͡ǫ͘ne͟͢͞.̷ ́͝͝Al̴͟ó͟ń̷e.̨͠ ̴͜A͢҉̷l̡͟͡òń̵e͜.͞ ̨̛A̷̸l͏̵͡ò̕͠n̷͡͝e.̛ A̴̧l͏ơ͞ń͡͡ȩ͝.̶͡ ̡̕Ą̷͘lo͡ne̛̕. ̷͝A͞l̵ó̶͜n͏e͘͘.͡͞ ́҉A̵̶l͟o҉͏n͘͟e̸͘͞.̷̸̡ ̷̢À̡͠lò̕ne̕͡. ͞A҉̀́l̴ò͞ń͡e̢͟.̴̧ ̨A҉͜l̸̨oń̢͟e̶͡.͝ ̶A̵͏l͏͢o̸̵n͏͘e.͢ ̶̵͢A͜lo͏ņ̶e̷̛͝.͜ ̵A̢l̵̛o҉n̷e.̶̨͞ ̴̸̶Al̡͝o҉n̕͟e̴̕.̡ ́Al̢̡o͢ne̶͘.̶̨́ ̷̡A̸̛l͏͏o͟ń̵ȩ̀̕.̸͝ Ą͘l͡͝o̶͟n͘e̛͟.̕̕ ͏Àl̕͞͝on̵̕e͠.̶̧́ ̷͘͝A͟l̢͢͜o̴̵̢n̡̧҉e̶͘͡.͏ A̸̸̡l̡̧̀òn҉̛e͞. ͞͠Ą͜l͜o̶̵͡n͞e̕͞.̨ ̡A̸lo͞n̨e. ҉̸̴A̸̛l̶̛̕o̸̡͢n̕͡͝e̡͡. ́À̵̢l̵ơn͘͜e.̡͞ A͢ĺo͟n̶̕e̡̕͠.̨̧ ̡Al̡ò̶n̵̡e.̧ ̕A͟l̨ơ̧͟n̢͞e.̕͢ ̨̡A͡l̛o͡ne.̀͝ ̧́A̶l̴͡o̷͝͡n̡͏̀e̶͠.̕͜ ̷̷A͠ĺơn̴͟e̷.̛͝ ҉Á͞ĺ̸̷o̸͢ne͡҉.̀ ̵̕À̵l͏o̴͟͟n͡e̡.̕ ̧A̵l̸͢o̸n̶e҉.̷̨ A̢̡͢lo̸̴҉n̴e̸͠.̢͢͝ ̷Á҉l͟o̷͢n͘e҉.́ ͠A͘͏l͟o͘n̴e.҉̸ ̛҉Aĺ̨o͟n͟e҉̡. ͏̶͞Á̸̢lo͜n̡̡͘e̴̷͘. ͟A̷͡l̸o̢n̴͜ę̀.̀͞ ̡̛͢A҉l҉̷ơ͏n̵͜ȩ̴̛. A̛͏l̸̀͘o͝͝n͏̨e͢.҉̵̢ ̴́͟Á̡͜l̶̡̛o͘ń͜͞e.̸ A҉͘͝l͜͠ò̸ǹè͞.̵̶͠ ̛͘͜A̸͠l̴̵̕o͜n͠e҉̶.́͘ ̧Al̢͢o̸͞n͜҉é̸.̛ ̡̛A̷l̨͠on̴e̵͞.͠ ́A͜ĺ̡o͜ne̡.҉́ ̨A̡̕l̷͠ơn̷҉e̡͡.̡͢ Al͘͢͏o̧͡n͡è͝.҉ ̀͜͠Alo̢ņe̛͠.̵ ̴Á͠͝lon͢e̵̡͟.̴̨͡ ͟͞Al̕͞͝o͜҉̡n҉̨e͠.̡ ̷͟͠A̡̧͜lon͝e͡͡. A̶̡lo̸ń̶͝e̕͘.̷ ̶͟A̡l̵̢͢o͡n̴e.͞ ̧̨A̴̧̡l̷̷̨o̴͘ǹe̴̢͞.͜ ̷A̡͞ļ̀͢o͞n͡͞è.̷ ҉҉͘Al̵o҉n̕e̛͠.͞ ͏̴Ą͘l̴o̵͢n̕͝e̷͜͞.̀ ̡͘͝A̷l̕o̶̢ǹ̕ȩ̧.͘ ͞A͜l̕o͏̢n͏e̛͟.̵ ͏A͝͏l̸̨ó͢ǹȩ.̶̢͏ ͟͠Al͡oń͞e.͏ A̴̡l͡o͠n͏͘͢e͡. ̷̴͘A̵l҉̷o͘͜͠n҉e͜͢.̢͟ A̧͞l̸o̕n͞e.̸͠ ̧͠À͘l̀o͢n̴̕e̷. ̨A͘͡͠lon̢e͝͏.̀͟ A̕l͟o͘͢ne̡.̢̀͠ Ą́̕l͏̶o҉̡nę̶. ̢́͝Ą̀́l̨͟o̴ne҉.҉ A̵͡l͢o͠͞n̷e̕.͞ ̀A̸ĺo͘n͢e̡.҉ ̷͜A͘͠l̛o̢͞n͝e͏̴.͜͜
̶͞
It was gone. She pressed the button, inertia pushing her hand through. The ship seemed to vibrate, powering up. She turned her head slowly, haunted, and looked right into its E͗̋̈ͭ͜҉͖̱̲͕̰̗̠̭͇̥͔̜̭ͅY̧̡̞͇̬̹̣̬̻̣͎̯̺͂̾ͥͤ̃̃ͩ̓ͫ̊̓͐̒ͬ́͜͡Ȩ̶͙̫̙̙̱͓̗͍̹̠̗͓̙̫̱̥̘̝̇̏̐̌́́̾ͫ̓̆̀ͦ͊͌̆͒̀̏S̷̸̞̬̼͉̲͚͔̝̜͚̣̣͙̙̥ͤͨ̉̿̇̒͂ͤͤͭͣ́. It was not through the screen, it was R̢̲̱̫͇̥̝̜̣̼̼̝̯̤̩̗͔͠I͜҉̷̙̦̺̯̻̤̤̯̩̠͟͞G̸̲̗̗̼̗̝͕̼̦̮̲̞̼͎̗̯̦͡͞H̨͏͎͍̜͕͓̫̤̫̪̲͖̹T͏̷͉͖̘̹͙̙̦̱̫̱̮̗̹͔̣ ҉̵̴̭̮̟͎̙͖͔̖́T͏͉̹̠͍̩̞̪̞̜̰̀̕H͚̤͈̩͙̞̦̤͢͟͡E҉̸̯͖̤͎͉̜͔̪̤͕̮͈͍̼͙̺R̛͓̖͉̘̪̲̤̠͚̳̀̀͢È̻͙̱̳̺̱̣̠̱͓̥͇̳̦̤̳̗͠ͅ. She screamed, and it was gone. And then she was gone.

The Place Where Demons Live 1

Before we get into it, I have to say that this was actually my second idea for my first build on here. I wanted to take a scientific spin on the "Monster Girls" trope like how A Centaur's Life and Interview with Monster Girls do. However, A Centaur's Life already did it the way I would have initially done, with "monster" people actually being humans that followed a different evolutionary path, with more branching than we did. Interview with Monster girls did well, too, but it only explained the how, not the why. That is, how the "monsters", called demi-humans in the show and books (people with peculiar genetic conditions), differ from regular humans. There are scientific explanations for every condition, but some are ridiculous, and why this happens is never explained.

Anyways, I wanted to do that, but with the evolutionary path already done, and done well, it will take me some time to figure out a scientific explanation for modern monster people.

And now, with that out of the way, demons. I've offered my skills in world and lore building, and from several people, they asked for information on demons, demonic hierarchy, and the like. I've dabbled a bit, back when I tried to write stories, and the nature of the place where demons come from in fantasy stories has always interested me. So, this post will be discussing a fantasy realm where demons reside, the types of demons, their hierarchy, and how both their society, and summoning in general works. I'm starting this post before any research is done, so you will get an accurate depiction of how I build these things as I go along.

The Origin of Demons

The biggest thing, before we get into anything else, is the how. How did this all get started? How was the first demon made? Where did they come from?

If I was going to take the route favored by fantasy stories that are influenced by Christianity, I would say something like "Every demon is a feather that burned off of Lucifer as he Fell from the grace of Heaven". Which is fun, and I would love to see someone use that in a story. But the best stories, to me, avoid the mainstream. Though that makes me sound like a hipster. Everything has been done before. Our job is to try and make is teem like it's completely new.

So, no strong Judeo-Christian elements. I can't say none at all, unless I want to remove many of the demons people are familiar with. Which can be very good for a story. But not every reader wants every single thing to be new. If you add enough new names and words, it starts to sound like a new language. So, we want something familiar enough that people can understand it easily, but new and different enough to be interesting and stand out.

Many fantasy stories have multiple gods and goddesses. Pantheons just happen to be popular. I personally love small gods. Where any concept or object can become divine if worshiped. In those settings, there are usually good gods, and evil gods. Having a god be evil does not make it a demon, though many have control over demons or can become a very powerful demon that rules in their demonic plane.

So, how does that happen? How does a God become a demon? Often, it seems to happen when a God is murdered. Or maybe I'm just making that up. Doesn't matter. Gods can die, and become guardians of the undead, or fade away completely. But I think violent deaths are what make them demons. The nature of their death is what crosses that line from dead god to demon.

But if all demons are dead gods, shouldn't they all be very powerful? An imp is generally accpeted as one of, if not the, lowest of all demons. And they are usually the most numerous. One might say that murdering a small god could make an imp, but how could so many small gods have been murdered in order to make so many imps?

Maybe murdered gods aren't actually the norm, then. Then what are imps? Also, I'm going to point out here that I am going with the idea that demons don't really die.If slain in the mortal realm, they return to the void. Or Hell. Whatever it is, I can come up with a name later. In that place, they are ranked, and by performing specific deeds, they can rise rank, and possibly even become a different kind of demon. I'm not yet sure how they may fall rank. It cannot be so simple as death in the mortal realm, as I'm also going with the practice of using the demon's name to summon the same demon. I want the summoning portion of it to work in many fantasy settings. Summoning a demon using its name and binding it to your will with some sort of magical contract  that they do their best to find a loophole in is common enough that my netherworld should be able to work with them.

Okay, back to imps. I don't think any murder can make a demon. Humankind is rather violent, so the number of immortal demons created by murder would easily outnumber all the sentient races on your magical little planet. And I'm sure that they would do what they can to use their superior numbers to invade and corrupt the mortal realm. Basically the premise of Disgaea 2. So, while numerous, their number should remain mostly stable.

You know, I said back to imps, but I'm going to say back to gods, now. Back to evil gods and murder, specifically. What if a very powerful, evil god with many was killed? Murdered by a good god. At least, that's how he'd tell it. After all, he had as much right to exist and enforce his will as the good gods, didn't he? He didn't overstep in any way, so why should he be killed? It was not execution, in his eyes, but murder. And, since he was without a doubt evil, no one questioned whether or not his murder was right or wrong.

Let's say that he was the God of Sin. The gods had just started their project with the super smart animals they were calling the Races of Men, and they did not like how he influenced them. Essentially, though, was he not just doing his job as a god? The god of natural disasters still lived, as did the goddess of pain. But it was not them that the goddess of virtue murdered, oh, no. She was simply jealous of the sway he had over the mortals. His following was large enough to create wars and evil empires. She would not stand for it.

So, she took her holy blade, and cut him into 7 pieces, which she dumped in the astral garbage bin. But you can't just throw a god into the trash, and expect that to be that. Those 7 pieces warped and grew into their own beings, powerful demons lords of sin. Ah, damn, I've come back to Judeo-Christian influence. Although, 7 is a divine number found in religions the world over, and those specific 7 Deadly Sins are reflected in multiple religions as, well, very bad things. It's hard to think of other sins that don't crossover with one of those.

Anyways, I'm sticking with it. If I can come up with different sins to mold them on, I may well do so. I'm siding with Familiarity here, but I would rather go with Unusual, if I could. These 7 demon lords took with them their former entity's followers, and warped them into the demons we know and love today. Their hierarchy and the nature of their garbage dump of a world comes next, though I don't know if that will be one post or two.

Welcome to Mythopoeia Lore!

 Lies breathed through silver

- C. S. Lewis to J. R. R. Tolkein about myths

For a long time, I thought I was a writer. Correction - I thought I was an author. The muses sang to me. I'd create stories in my head, and worlds in which they played out. They were amazing! And since I wrote well, it seemed like destiny. And yet... I could never finish a story. Short stories were too short for my long-winded way, and I always ran out of steam before I finished a novel. I have hundreds of half-written, dead stories. Which, of course, is not that rare for any author.

I don't quite remember when it happened. It was sometime over the  past few months. Maybe it was while I was working on the Sci-Fi universe I've been creating for several years now for a future video game. Maybe it was as I played Enderal, and reveled at the in-depth world created for a Skyrim mod. Maybe it was as I played Monster Super League, reading the bios of the cute monsters and realising that, coupled with conversation snippets and story dialogue, that this phone game has surprisingly interesting lore that most people don't notice.

At some point, I realised that this is what I never got tired of. The world building. The lore. When I played DnD, I always had a long and detailed backstory. Really, any tabletop game. I would research my character. Anyone telling me to make a character for a game did not realise that I may spend 24 hours straight (has happened more than once) researching different regions, their history, what the people look and talk like, their beliefs, their gods, and so on. I'd also do research from outside of the game book, using real world examples. To effectively write a canon for my character.

When it came to fanfiction, I hate using characters involved in the media. I always created my own characters, who had their own story in that world. Perhaps my 'fanfiction' falls into the realm of derivative works. Or self-role play, if that's even a thing. And again on role playing - every role-playing game that I have, even if the character was meant to be generic, I gave them an in-depth backstory tying them to the world. I've spent hours in Minecraft building fantasy-inspired cities in clouds (well, mad out of wool or snow, but amongst the clouds), in trees, and underwater. Not that unusual, but with the specific intent of bringing in villagers, thus creating a world, not simply a decorative piece. Then, I'd bring friends to role play, or make machinima. My love for machinima is yet another example of my love for lore. Of course, it's about making a story, but a story that creates and uses lore has always been my favorite kind.

I could go on and on about different ways I love lore, and I've probably already rambled on a bit too much. I still feel that I have yet to express completely my feelings, but the show must move on. My point is that creating worlds, creating myths and backstories, and all of the hours of research that comes with doing that well are all things that I am passionate about. And so, this blog.

I want to use this space to share what I do, how I do it, and share what I create with others. Not only that, but I want to create world for others. I want my readers to use my worlds and play with them. Homebrew games, role plays, writing contests, challenges, public domain stories and practice are all examples of what readers are free to do with my content. I also want to be able to create worlds that people can buy for their stories, games, movies, and so on. I say buy, because I like what money can do for me, but I also have no problem with giving over the rights to a world and its lore in contests, or to readers who can show that they'd make good use of them. If you ask me to make a world for you, based on a theme, just ask. Life is not about money. To me, it's about enjoying your existence. I would be happy to spend hours creating a world for someone else, and see the amazing things they do with it.

But if you want to pay me to create a world, language or myth, that is definitely fine. You can't eat words.

Anyways, please comment! I will do my best to respond back. I also hope to host, review or post about others' works, be they stories with great lore, world builds or crafted languages. I may also post about my influences, like Tolkein, Marc Okrand, Brandon Sanderson, etc.