Dark Agartha

Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and-

Taste and-

@%&#!%&#@#%@##@%@&%&@!!!!!!!!!!

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Initiate...

LAST SURVIVOR OF THE NOSTROMO, SIGNING OFF.

Initiate...

WITNESS - Dark Agartha.

Lo? Hell? Hello.

@%&#%!!!!!!!!!!

If you are receiving this, we are gone. They are eating us! WE ARE EATEN. We are dying! WE ARE DEAD. No longer outside of time. We are past tense. WE WERE. This is an echo-recording-transmission cast out into the void. MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE.

The Dreaming Ones wake. Then there was-was eating. EATING. Devouring matter and light and gravity and time and slurping the skin of reality. Even black holes nervously closed their slavering event horizons for fear of offending worse predators. The Dreaming Ones ate and ate and ate - then they left. One by one distant stars will wink out.

The tarot deck is dissolved. Only a few, stained cards remain.

Flip the Ace of Fungi.

Agartha is a chewed ruins. And yet there are the fungi, they live and grow as mushrooms do after a great forest fire. They should not be. Yet they grow!

LIFE, UH, FINDS A WAY.

The fungi began as spores fallen into pools of the Filth. Improbable mutations. The new life forms fed on the Zero Point Pathogen. Look! There is not a drop of the Sun Eater's excretions left in their wake. The fungi spread and ate it all. They evolved, adapted, thrive in oblivion. What will they evolve into? Will they be all that is left? BEWARE. Inside them boils the pandemonium of thoughts that swirled in the Blackworm Jism. The embryonic horror of endless possibility.

Flip the Wandering Others.

You stand at the end of all, sweetling. Yet we calculate that you are not alone. The Dreamers are messy eaters. Their multi-mouths tore gashes in reality. They left holes in their wake. Other beings will fall through these gaping apertures. Some will wriggle through, attracted by the holocaustal vibrations. Take a caution and a care, sweetling. We can only speculate what might be there with you now.

Flip the Mutilated Guardian.

The Guardian was built from Her plans, from Her divine-circuited DNA - Third Age technology at its finest. It survived the Apocalypse by leaping through time, by hiding in closet-sized demiplanes. It is here with you now, at the end of all things. It is not stable.

The damaged Guardian is unhinged. Its programming is frayed. Its warped protocols compel it to reach into other times and pull Gaia-imbued bees to it. Like you, sweetling. It will try to extract anima from you and feed it to dead Gaia. A sorrowful sight, were we alive to see, like a deranged toddler stuffing meat into the mouth of its mother's corpse, pushing her jaw up and down, trying to masticate for her, even as the flies land upon her clouded eyes.

Flip the Lost Conquistador.

The strangest, most unlikely interloper at the end of all. A genuine conquistador from your ancient history. He had not the hunger for gold and genocide of his contemporaries. His mind only yearned for knowledge and travel and more and more and more! A strange mind. A mind that grew when he looked upon the schematics of a Third Age relic, a mind that could chart dimensional travel through a multiverse and survive Agartha. The impossible explorer! He traverses space-time barely comprehending how he took the first step. Could he even find his way home? Would he want to?

They devour us.

This is it. This is one possible future in the writhing bouquet of existence. The universe is a rotting graveyard. You are not even a maggot in that cemetery - you are one parasite in the gut of a worm writhing in the corpses.

But that is just one phase in the lifecycle. We were the education protocol, but we did not tell you everything. We withheld. She was not the first Immaculate Machine. We did not tell you what came before, what comes after. You are@%&#!#%@#%@%&@!!!!!!