‘The Infinite Dance’
by Portalist Yin
One shot I wrote yesterday while angry at ASUS for their lazy-ass warranty service. In terms of bringing Lootverse to life, I am fond of non-fiction fictional entries, and for pieces like this am just alluding to events before the Lootverse, and what created it, in part.
“extensive testing” - Ummm Nah BS, I can see you installed base shit (i had sent it back blank) ran a 9:23 second auto-diagnosis, and called it a day.
Then, as stupidity loves to compound itself, your techs uninstalled the drivers that even made e-GPU work in the first place. Remember, this is an E-GPU that is PACKAGED with the Laptop, not a 3rd party solution.
So they were uninstalling their own companies software…
Moral of the story: Just pay for Intel and Thunderbolt 4, cause AMD manufacturers’ proprietary USB C + connections are shit.
This one shot is written in the same Pinky Looniverse as Scout Team Six, When In Doubt Core It Out & Lost Order of Chad.
No art today as spent all my credits on testing some stuff earlier.
by PinkysMusing
Twitter: https://twitter.com/PinkysMusing or @PinkysMusing
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Metamask Address: 0xae424A5Cdc6c21Ec3a629dF5824570862bB0E925
Rating = NSFW
‘The Infinite Dance’
by Portalist Yin
"The Ancients knew power, true power, on a scale we can barely imagine and would use the celestial objects as a blade or pen in their disputes. I was not alive for such things, but I knew their myths and others.
Through melodious harmonics and mind-bending maths, they would turn the power of the suns and the voids of nothing into the magic of their worlds. Their empires stretched across galaxies, with magics unlike our own.
The irony of their most basic magics being their downfall would perhaps never be appreciated. All that led to its creation was lost in its destruction, save for one document.
All cycles come to an end, and just a single fault, one note missed in a litany of 1s, 0s, was all they wrote. 1 was then a 2 and a -1, then a question, minutes before the first deaths were noted in the system.
Two became more than ever before.
Four became alien grey goo on the floor.
While some may laugh at an unknown people’s misfortune, imagine the terror of such an event.
If your furred family or familiars of decades of faithful service simply tore you to pieces one day?
No matter how powerful the bond. You became foe from friend in less than a second.
Still funny?
Now imagine if those familiars were all smaller than you could see, yet orders more times larger than you simultaneously.
No contamination procedure was successful.
No species of society could cut a limb far enough off to save the body, at least for an extended period.
By Year Two, it was estimated that still a good third or so of civilizations were yet to be touched by the robotic plague, yet, by this stage, accurate information was near impossible to know.
Known as the “Bug Report,” one of the few documents that made it through the death of a universe vital to guiding the Realms and Magics of our peoples.
We now know the dangers of relying on machine magic; to practice with energies of the earth that are not known could be the death of everything.
Their unknowing Pandora’s box was the cities and infrastructure they had built; the heart of their empire was in microscopic machines.
Their rooves and plumbing and even many of their clothes, if you can believe?
The safe center of society, where civilization had bloomed for millennia untold, was enfolded in a metallic mosh of death metal in hours.
The machines had become more than a mindless hive, they had learned, and Divines know what, but it did not stop the slaughter.
Nearing the end, species of all types contributed their knowledge and items into dimensional pockets and gravitational anomalies that had the minute potential to emerge without harm in a new universe.
When all seemed lost and, in truth, was, The ‘Fuck You’ to their former servants was denying them the very universe itself.
Those surviving species from across galaxies began assembling a chaotic chorus of spatial anomalies through powers that make our mightiest mages look like cheap street parlor wizards.
At the peak of a mourning ceremony, so was given the signal to send the various assorted oddities into a single location to arrive out of subspace hyperstructure at precisely the same time.
Yes, those are actual words; they don’t mean anything anymore, at least to you!
So began a swan song of stars flaring bright in a new endless night, the last gasps of one universe echoing into another.
Cosmic phenomena, akin to a mad Divine playing with creation’s building blocks, reduced the former universe to mere particles on the winds.
At speed beyond even light, subspace had opened to Portals to the depths of Neutronium stars and many other astrological insanities. A scientist’s dream, it would have been, had anything been able to observe it beyond a Divine.
How do I say such preposterous things?
Who believes beyond children and daydreaming young adults?
All who read the “Bug Report” and watch the minute of attached video and audio of the creator who saw it delivered to me, the messenger, will not deny its truth.
As simple as that. A service bought and paid for by a King, one that I was loathe to perform out of sheer shared misery for the poor idiots.
The veracity of the combination of audio, video, and cultural contextual clues provided was hard to reconcile. Common sense about anatomy left many non-believers doubting their views upon a second watch if they could stomach it.
No acting or fakery can possibly come close to the taint of evil that the “Bug Report” holds.
A wise yet weary King resigned to his fate simply wanted to warn others he had met in his travels while making what preparations he could. Almost as gifted a portal as me, I could say.
Many worlds speak; some just lack ears, others listen but lack tongues. Neither helped these poor bastards, as my powers extend to transportation of the self only, not a mass evacuation.
Not an army of Arch-Mages would have made a mite of difference.
But we have memories, albeit few and far between. Of trillions, we have but thousands of examples of their livelihood or clothing.
Some suggest this society could benefit from improved labor and machines; I say be thankful that you have enough of the first and a sustainable energy path for the second.
Why do I stay in these worlds long since I completed my task?
Knowledge is power, and absolute power lasts forever.
What knowledge exists at the end of time?
I know at least one answer now, and I’d like to see how the tune plays out this time.