Vargas followed Astraea into the Hole.

Vargas followed Astraea... That's how it had always been. Created to obey, always doing his duty; and here he was again, pacing along in obedient eagerness. The hound on a leash, slavering for his reward. He had near-forgotten his fear that he might be getting set up as the whipping boy for this nest's awful state. He'd forgotten, or at least didn't care, that the Masters might be propping him up to do work they couldn't be bothered with.

No; he was eager to perform his tasks, as they'd created him; he was hungry to begin.

To begin creating. Molding. Testing. Proving.

His power had always come from himself, and from those beneath. From the careful, brutally-molded results of his work.

Vargas had also not known that an Altar yet existed, and he could not wait to see it. It held an almost religious symbolism for him: a zealotry that sent his heart racing in anticipation. How had he not known-?! But here it was; he could sense it down there, down the long, dark tunnel. And as they reached the tiny room below, the not-light played strange tricks. Vargas' hide became toxic yellow-green, the opposite of his purple-pink hue--and the same green-yellow shade, his eyes, became a hideous glowing pink. Astraea's brown coat was turning a sort of aqua teal, his red eyes and gemstone bright blue? Green? Vargas stared, briefly, and then glanced back at Orthoclase-Alpha, who he'd commanded accompany them to watch this rite. It might be good for it, after all; good to see it, whatever the process might turn out to entail. Creamy-brown, here, became purple, and that was bizarre to see, particularly with the turquoise highlights along its limbs.

The Altar ahead then became visible. Vargas stepped fully into the room, staring at it, almost awed: at its smooth black surface sheened a marble-white in the void-light, that oily rainbow glistening across it. The pulse of dark power. The whispers that filled this room.

He thrilled with it, he felt it roil through him, and he looked to Astraea--expectantly--with a grin.

Whatever happened next... this was surely the pinnacle of his life.

@Orthoclase-Alpha @Game Master CJ

The first thing it noticed were the whispers - not the startlingly steep descent, not the strange reversion of the light - but the whispers. Indistinct, ancient tongues from ancient mouths. A dense, heavy air. Dreadful and ominous. Completely unfamiliar with it and the object of many's adoration, Alpha's teeth were on edge, quills pricked but not rattling.

But, it was just as obedient to Vargas as he was to Astraea, following along and shoving down that wariness of the unnatural and unfamiliar. They were secure in this - almost excited - and so would it be.

Where the Masters may have strode ahead to the glistening altar, it hung back, polite and respectful. This was their ritual, their expansion of power. It'd been merely commanded to watch for reasons it didn't know. Now-amethyst gaze shifting over the other two, Alpha waited for the proceedings to begin, ignoring (while it could) the constant susurrus of the Hole.

They descended the Hole in silence, but the closer they got to the Altar, the deeper they swam into the depths of chaotic whispers; and as if reacting to the presence of Astraea, they rose into a swollen cacophony until his body reached the dark stone, and the sounds fell silent.

His turned to Vargas and gestured for him to approach.

"It is not fun," he said with a grin, placing a hoof against the stone. "But you will survive." At the touch, a thick cloud of smoke began to roll from the Altar, spilling down, gurgling as it snaked its way across the ground and filled the space around them. It was not harmful, not to Astraea, not to Vargas; should it reach the Orthoclase, then yes, it might burn. But it seemed almost alive, and ignored the large body of the other, parting around and through its legs to reach the wall behind it. As the small room was blanketed with the smoke, it crashed against the walls and puffed up, curling in over itself like waves breaking against cliffs.

"When you place a hand upon the Altar..." his voice broke, his ears flattening. "Well, do know it is not my intention to harm you, but you will die." A pause. "But only for a little while—and when you wake, you will be Master Vargas."

@Vargas

Vargas glanced at Astraea, grinning back. His heart raced, anticipation, eagerness, trepidation, all roiling through him.

"Ahh, well. Nothing worth doing is easy," he answered, a brief, dark chortle following. Painful, then.

He expected agony.

Almost in rapture, utterly forgetting the Orthoclase behind him, he stepped forward; his eyes flicked over the washing waves of shadow. 'You will die...'

...Ahh.

Vargas looked back, eyeing Orthoclase-Alpha. "Watch closely," was all he said--a short, barked command. Whatever happened, he felt it important for the Orthoclase's training that it observed this--that it knew.

He looked to the altar.

This was it, then. His ascendence.

The Overseer took a breath, eyes bright, and moved to lay one six-thumbed hand atop the altar's smooth surface.

@Orthoclase-Alpha

Suddenly - it was quiet. Alpha tensed preemptively, expecting something to happen immediately. A hoof fell upon the Altar, and that something started to clog the Hole and obscure the floor and the walls.

"You will die, but only for a little while." How? "Watch closely."

Down the hand went, and the orthoclase watched, simultaneously enraptured and... afraid.



@Game Master CJ

As Vargas approached and lay a hand on the Altar, Astraea turned forward-facing and closed his eyes. A deep breath. Another. And the thick shadow that surrounded them began to do the same, swelling and relaxing as if it were breathing—a presence had joined them.

"A̶̡̝̠̖͔̽͂̚͝S̸̨̱̤̤͇̽͛̃̄̀ͅT̷̢͕̎̍͗R̵̡̖͙͈͖̳̎́̕͘A̴͉̒̉͝E̸̡͐͛̉̎̄A̴͕̻̓̏̃̚͘..." thundered a voice, reverberating off of the walls and rising smoke: eventually, the body of the Master and the Overseer were lost to the Orthoclase as the room dove into darkness.

Astraea spoke in an ancient tongue: "I am offering up Overseer Vargas to serve as a new Master." He waited. The breathing in the room rumbled into a low growling.

Two green eyes—pink in the inverted room—that were larger than their own bodies, peeled open and looked down upon them. Wisps and trails of smoke curled from them like fires, and then the room took one deep breath—all of them, together, as if commanded—and the eyes settled on Vargas.

"I'd like to keep his form, as well, if he may," Astraea added, but did not look into the eyes.

"V̷̧̡̪̰̜͚͛͗̌̿̎Ḛ̷̺̾́̉R̷̯̓̅̍̒̋Y̴̒̎̈́̋̚͘ͅ ̴̟͙̙̝̳̔̔̈́W̷̦̥͖̹͆͒̿̌̕Ê̴͎̱͓̘̐̄L̶̞͇̤͍͈͒͆͐̋̊L̴̖͎̬͙̉͝," spoke the voice after some time, and the shadows in the room tensed; they began to rise and swirl around Vargas like a whirlpool, sucking the air and life and magic from him, constricting tighter and tighter until he felt as though he might pop. The air screamed against the current of chaos, a loudness that was deafening, until the sharp shatter of crystal sliced it into silence.

Astraea's chin rose, looking to where Vargas's face might be in the shadows, and he smiled. "See you soon."

The smoke released and dissipated almost as quickly as it had manifested, the presence sliding from consciousness. Left in its wake was a large, foreboding chrysalis that shimmered with the chaotic iridescence of the Oil. It pulsated, different than others, a crackling magic crawling across its surface that threatened to attack any who may come too close.

Astraea turned to the Orthoclase finally, nodding. "We can come back in two weeks time to retrieve him," he said, aiming to start his ascent. "Master Vargas, the Leviathan." The smile that cracked his lips was a mix between genuine and wicked—it was beginning, again.

The Rise of Chaos.

There was... something here. Alpha near-instinctively reached for its magic, to look around, but it assured itself with these are my Masters. They knew what they were doing, and they were familiar with this. The orthoclase pulled itself together with that sentiment, even as indecipherable tongues were tossed around and the room plunged into pitch-black darkness.

The air roared, growled, breaths it didn't take on its own echoing - then, a simple "see you soon."

Out of the sudden dark, Alpha flinched near-imperceptibly, eyes squinting as they adjusted to the void-light again, and the immense - powerful - chrysalis now standing before the altar. Its creator, its Overseer, its Master. Magenta gaze remained fixated on the Oily stone a moment later, drawn away by the sound of Astraea's voice.

Two weeks. It would keep itself busy with its already-assigned tasks in the meantime, then.

Head bowing deeply, the orthoclase trudged up the incline after him.



exit

It had been long enough for Vargas to reform.

Astraea made his way casually down the descent, his ear flicking at the whispers as they grew, chided, groaned; and finally, his ruby eyes found what they had come to see. Shadows spilled from the large chrysalis like billowing smoke. Ah, yes. It had been just the right amount of time. He approached the chrysalis and inspected it only for a moment before turning to view the hole entrance, wondering when the Othroclase would decide to show up. It did want to be here for its Master's awakening, did it not?

He settled in to wait as shadows gripped the inverted room.




The chrysalis began to crack and pop, spitting oil from several places and leaking in others; it almost looked as it if were crying tears of black blood. Astraea took several steps back to allow it the freedom of releasing the Leviathan however it pleased.

And hopefully, Vargas had kept his form—although Astraea had asked the Creator for this, and the Creator had agreed, he could not guarantee it was so. Still, the form worked well for what they needed, so he saw no need to change it. He was curious to know, either way.

@orthoclase-alpha

It'd certainly also been long enough for Orthoclase-Alpha to clash with an oversized spider, fall into a chrysalis, awaken, trade stones with the Collector, and damn near tumble down the steep descent of the Hole.

At least it managed to retain some grace, even if it was clearly late - Astraea was already present, and shadows were beginning to feel along the Altar and fill the void-white room once again. The kaiju blinked into the light, acknowledging him with a soft, reverent, "I apologize for my tardiness, Master Astraea" and bow of its head.

It steadied its breathing slowly, fluorescent pink eyes watching the chrysalis as it prepared to shatter and bring forth its Master, newly-formed.

(Why do I feel... scared? It's fine.)



@Vargas

The smoke leaked forth, and gradually, Vargas woke.

He remembered agony--he remembered searing pain, his body tearing itself apart, everything that he was and had ever been being siphoned forcibly from him. But it was an honor--a glorious honor-...

Half-awake mind wondered if it were over, now. He took a rasping breath, clearing liquid from alien lungs, and he turned--he'd wound up, somehow, on his back within the stone. Or maybe that was how he'd... Reformed. He didn't really want to think about that, about how his skin might not now be his own, about how old scars were gone... the flesh regrown.

Long limbs, spined as before, slowly extended forth in an almost spider-like manner. Overseer-... No, Master Vargas pulled himself out, liquid dribbling from his jagged teeth, glowing eyes blinking as he looked around him. The smoke half-shrouded him as he stood, testing his limbs, his strength. He felt... different; he felt a depth of his well of power that he'd never felt before. The ability to... to do things that had been beyond him, before. He turned his attention, then, to his surroundings.

Astraea was there, and from habit and respect, Vargas dipped his head to him in acknowledgement. And there was Orthoclase-Alpha, waiting; and Vargas offered the same. They were both here, then..? Had it only been moments, or had they returned--had his stone, perhaps, given warning? Or had he been in it for the usual reformation time..?

His voice was full of fluid, as he spoke. "How long has it been..? he asked.

@Game Master CJ