The figure in the tweed suit floated silently across the Void. Eldritch horrors fluttered about his field of view. Any that came dangerously close to him were mentally bisected by a tendril of the figure’s keen mind. Their thoughts were laid bare in front of him, indecipherable to mortals, yet not to agents of true darkness. A simple critique dissected them, rendering useless. The voided figure moved onwards. He entered a temple resembling a king’s castle, coated with flaking amethyst paint, no doubt assembled carefully eons ago. Pressing his lengthy umbrella to one of the billions of bricks on the castle walls with no hesitations, a tall gate carved itself in the solid stone and swung inwards. The figure pressed on.
The castle’s interior was dark and ruined. Hallways that once held red carpet were eaten away by the harshness of the Void. Alien dust coated the floorboards, and the colorings on canvases that once pictured stellar abyssal landscapes had faded. Banquet halls home to massive feasts served for royalty and featuring the cooked carcasses of abominations were destroyed and trashed, as though a stampede had run through. Staircase after staircase was climbed, and special attention was paid to the missing steps, or the ones that teleported those that walked on it — not intentionally, but due to corrosive voidstone. Any system in place that would trap those that entered had been disabled or damaged beyond repair long ago. The figure pressed on.
At last, he made it to a throne room of sorts — the only area in a presentable state throughout the entire castle. There was no ominous wind for the banners to wave in, but they slightly swayed nonetheless, the insignias on them being too dull to make out. The single source of light in the chamber came from its far end, from the figure sitting on the throne. The seat in question wasn’t wholly remarkable, consisting of some stone slabs arranged in the rough shape of a chair. Its occupant, however, was quite interesting. He was dressed in the garb of a king, decked out in orchid and various other purple hues. His rippling cloak was arranged with a series of symbols in every known language and then some. Shining, radiant gems adorned his chestplate. His armor seemed like the antithesis of divinium, yet it glittered all the same. In the place of his head was a shimmering crown — an orchid emblem of static glowing against the spatial dimensions of reality. It was a rudimentary image, like a sideways E, but it conveyed absolute power.
The tweed figure walked along the faded carpet, made it to the seat of the throne, and knelt. Hail to the King, he uttered gravely. The figure on the throne made no movements, both of his arms squarely placed on the throne’s own arms. What seemed to be a royal scepter and a sword were lodged into the ground on either side. “ƜИѦ†.” The figure rose up and coughed. King’s Crown, I have reason to believe that my protege, Bill Cipher, is conspiring to destroy every Zodiac in existence. He believes that this will ensure his immortality. I am requesting your assistance in stopping him. The king placed his right hand on where his chin would be, stroking it in a gesture of infinite thinking. “பՈᐭΞᎡ$ᛀØᦥḐ,” the king replied. His voice sounded like shattering glass. The king stood from his throne, his cloak billowing as he did so. His crown tilted to look at his scepter — topped by an upside-down pyramid — and his sword — coated in amethyst, and resembling the tooth of a serpent. “⍹∑ ⟒1Ⱡ⨜ ₲Ὅ.” The voided figure nodded uncertainly as the king grabbed both implements, wrenching them from the ground. He arranged them in an ‘X’ over his chest, glowing with power as the tweed figure knelt. The two disappeared with a faint hiss.
< 3.5: STATE YOUR NAME AND RANK | 3.6: HAIL TO THE KING | 3.7: PARAJUSTICE >