🌟🌌Dimension Hoppers [RP Remake]🌌🌟

*xano groans*

"fineeeee"

*xano shuts up*

Why is everyone here so bloodthirsty?

Clover thinks, averting her view from Cyntalia and choosing instead to look at the statues as she walks up.

What happened to these people?

The boss's room is a size. It is neither small nor large, it is exactly the size it needs to be in any given situation. The room is covered in so many displays of artistry that it's more like an art museum then a room where someone resides. A number of the greatest paintings that have ever been conceived- and some that haven't, hang from unknowable points on the wall. Pillars reach up into the ceiling, more so for aesthetical reasons than structural ones. Emblems like crescent moons connected to each other, curves of physical impossibility looping into each other. Precious gems like blood diamonds, painites, emeralds, and what have you hang in slots, glittering in the light.

There are statues. They are incomprehensible to the fullest. Mobius loops, nonsensical shapes and colors, very rarely is there something that you can understand in this mad menagerie. There is a singular path forward to where

I remember that feeling, that rage when I struck down that thing, a mindless murderous beast, Sodom and Gomorrah incarnate, a progenitor of sinful heresy. Curse ye! You black-tongued snake, seeder of spores, delusional dreamer of nightmares!

the boss is seated. The path is made of pitch black alloy, something that resonates into the ground below, something that you can't make out, something that you don't know. Flanking that path, posted up parallel to the pillars near the path, are eight Servitors standing there, stone-still. The hilts of their twisted swords gripped in their viscous midnight hands, blades and tips pointed toward the ground. They wait, and do nothing, standing still like statues.

All of the space within the room seems to bend, bend toward a singular nexus point. They bend and draw your gaze closer to the nexus point. Following the path, there is a set of stairs leading up to a bolted ostentatious throne, seven star points extending outward from the main seat. There are seven, tall steps up towards the seat, within it lies

The first step upon an ashen world of our own making. A small step off a small staircase, a small boot on a small world, stomping down on a skull, crushing it underfoot. A heel upon bone, upon flesh, worshipped therein as we always should have been. As conquerors. As superiors.

the boss.

He sits there on the throne, watching with an expression. You cannot tell what his expression is, for his mouth is gone, replaced by a metal (You know it's not steel. You know that it's something else, something far greater.) respirator, veins of red energy coursing through it. His eyes are not quite eyes, looking like they should, with a white schlera and some iris color you can't quite make out from this distance. They don't look like an eye should look like, wandering and unfocused yet cold and disdainful.

Idol of congealed blood so you rise, together now, intertwined in destiny we!

His body is of metal, of that greater alloy, an invulnerable fortress for which an emperor is to give out the order to kill thousands, from the arms to the legs to every last speck of the body below the arch of the nose. Nothing is organic, all made of metal, of the bones of gods, welded and forged into something greater than they

...is angry with all nations, his wrath on all their armies. He will totally destroy them, he will give them over to slaughter. Their slain will be thrown out, their dead bodies will stink; the mountains will be soaked with their blood.

can or would ever be.

Lo, there we sit, upon the ashes of Babylon, raking our hands through the bloodstained waters, the clean made unclean, the unholy purged in fire and sulfur. Fie! Curse their cries and their begging, their bleeding and their blistering. Beholden to their fleshen manacles and gyres, their greatest sin the one they have no intention of parting with.

Behind the throne of the boss is an eye, a great stained glass window in the shape of an eye, staring right at

There are we, arbiters of all fate, weavers of eventual destiny. Here, where we sit is the center of the world. Here is the center of all reality, this room, this throne.

you. The eye is cat-like, ovoid, the pupil a black slit with a green sclera. It is bigger than the throne, towering, a silent pres

Many names over many eons. New ones with the coming of the new age, with us turning the wheel. The Twisted Lord. The Overseer. The Arbiter. One, the original name. The one from that little house near the Great Lakes, the one in that house shared by that shard. The one that was uttered in fondness by that DISGUSTING CREATURE. The name, that name of

cense. There, on his imperial throne sits Dead, Leader of Attica, Scourge of the Empire, a Thousand Silent Words Lost in the Wind, Murderer billions of times over.

Painting is Napoleon the First on his Imperial Throne, 1806, painted by Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres. Edited via me. Not actually Dead's appearance, just a painting

Seeing the great something in front of her, Clover feels like a mosquito about to meet its doom.

”Good…” What time is it here? Darn it. “…day. I-It’s a pleasure. To be here.”

“Good day”? That’s not how you’re supposed to talk to a divine creature, is it? 

Though, is it even an actual living creature? It looks more like a robot…

She bows slightly, getting one brief look. Then she puts her arms behind her back and fixates her gaze on the floor, as if looking at that thing directly for too long were an unforgivable audacity, which it might actually be.

And the whole room, with its incomprehensibility, is disturbing to look at anyway.

This must be what Ato was terrified of, right?

This is all surreal…

She eyes the other party members, especially Xano and Cyntalia, to see how they respond, praying they don’t do something regrettable.

(I keep getting reminded of that black thing we fought when I first joined the Hoppers... My feelings about this are getting worse and worse, but I've got to ensure this altercation goes well...)

"Good day, sir. I'm Cyntalia Desker of the Dimension Hoppers' delivery crew. Our manager has informed us that we have been requested at your presence, and due to your status, your decrees of are utmost importance to us... however, I myself would like to humbly request an answer on why you seek conversation with us in particular."

Dead is silent at first, waiting for a few very uncomfortable moments after you two give your greetings. He sits there, as if listening to something, before he suddenly responds.

”Why did I summon you? It wasn’t me, if it was up to me then I would rather have you all gutted and your innards fed to a furnace before I deigned to talk with you. But, you know…”

Dead waves his hand in some sort of gesture at the empty air to his right.

”You’ve apparently had a very impressive field record, and after you damaged PPA-04, plus that Servitor, we simply had to see you bunch with our own eyes. Not very impressive I must say, but I digress.”

Dead pauses once more, slightly turning his head, eyes to the ceiling before turning his gaze over to you all again.

”Why don’t you all introduce yourselves? Know your employees and all that.”

"Im Xano, Im a ram that got thrown thru a wall and am here"

*Xano still glares at cyntalia not liking her but stays quiet*

(I'd give him a piece of my mind, but in this present moment that seems like straight up suicide...)

*Cyntalia would wait for everyone else to introduce themselves, extremely impatient (although to maintain her image towards Dead, she tried to hide this)*

"I am what many call 'The Operator'. One of the more... competent employees."

”My name is…” She clears her throat and looks up only to stare back down again. “…my name is Clover Burrows. It’s, um, really been exciting to work in this position, so, thank you for the opportunity…”

Dead nods along to all of your introductions, but you can very easily tell that he doesn’t really care about any of this. Really it’s for the benefit of someone else, but whatever. He looks over all of you once with a hard stare (though his eyes seem to glaze over Ato, who’s cowering in the back).

”Yes, yes, very interesting, I do believe that is all for this visit…?

… Yes it is. Alright then, this visit is over. I’ll be forwarding you some more of my personal contraband for you to deliver, but for now that’s- Wait.”

Dead’s uncaring demeanor fades away quick, eyes coming into focus once more, focusing on the delivery party. The disdain has gone now, replaced with a madness, a thinly veiled insanity. He listens to the air once more, then addresses you lot.

”When you made that delivery to the Citadel, where were you?”

Quieter now. The madness, the anger and the hate in his eyes underlying his voice. Deadly. The first words before the storm. An invisible weight upon your shoulders now. You can feel something watching you from just out of sight. There’s nothing there. The world holds its breath.

"We were attacked. On one of the trains."

Adara walks to where the group is. "Don't eat random food that you are given, that I have learned. Anyways I'm back." Adara readjusts her glove.