Chapter 3: Sentinel and Plot Twist Interlude

A maelstrom of nothingness swirled around a tornado of perception while small villages of pragmatism were swept up in the wake of a most illogical battle of psyches.1

Fugitives from a long dead world fought for psychological dominance.2

Strains of That-Which-Is slowly manifested themselves into infinitely tiny chocolate chip cookies orbiting around a need for power.3

The scroll unrolled with a tale to unfold and the room grew cold while thieves stole gold from4

a teddy bear with the stuffing knocked out5

an Alaskan Eskimo with flaming gout6

a dog with bee’s knees and7

a bee with god’s fleas8

a raging workaholic9

a working rageoholic10

out of rehab11

and in denial.12

But more on that later…13

First there was Sentinel. And 1 Plot Twist of course. Neither knew how they had come by their somewhat ambiguous names.14

Perhaps, like infants gifted with preternatural reading ability, they had seen the words somewhere else and had simply liked the sounds.15

Perhaps, like Gods, they had been given those names by the people who had imagined them.16

Well, they had never really been Gods and certainly never infants.17

Oh, people had named them as the Gods of darkness and chaos (respectively). But they had existed long before any of that had happened.18

If Gods are the dreams of men, then what happens when the men wake up? What do the Gods think of all that?19

“Bugger that,” they’d say.20

“I am a GOD. I was here before there was a before. I’m not going to let some ponce in a toga hop in the bath and then run around questioning my existenceat the top of his lungs!”21

From this snippy monologue we can assume that Gods are nothing more than really petty humans, right? WRONG. Gods are not human. Gods have superpowers.22

Gods are terrifying. Their very appearance, nay, their very existence is meant to invoke blood curdled submission and obedience. Which pretty much sums up religion right there.23

Gods don’t need food, sleep, or air. The consciousness of Gods can stretch for eons and eons. Gods also do not require emotion. Even awareness and logic are mere options for a God.24

So then, what, Gods don’t exist?25

Yes. Gods. Do. Not. Exist.26

Very good.27

But then, neither do humans.28

Because if the laws of reality state that for something to exist, it has to be observed, then we do not exist.29

Those denizens of the Marianis trench, those amoeba on Mars, those doubles of us in these so called alternate universes, they’ve never observed us. Ever.30

Do people lost in the desert, in underground bunkers, latch key kids disappear after a little while? No. No they don’t.31

So why should we exist? The answer is obvious.32

The laws of reality ARE COMPLETE AND UTTER NONSENSE!!!33

Which is why I find it much more comforting to view reality as one of two things. A poem. And a rubber sheet.34

Viewing reality as a poem is really more of a cop-out than anything else. When things get complex, just string nouns and verbs together according to the wise and esoteric edict of Iambic Pentameter and soon everything will be just fine. Secreted amidst your veritable towers of psychobabble, no amount of damaging logic or philosophy will ever touch you again.35

The first paragraph of this particular chapter is a good example. Villages of pragmatism? Hoo-ee, I’m willing to bet that you got a lot more out of that than anything else I’ve written so far.36

The other way is less of a cop-out, but is still just as bad. So, reality is a rubber sheet, right? And e v e r y t h i n g on it is us, right?37

We are lead weights, essentially. Us and everything that happens. Nouns and verbs.38

Big things (like wizards, psychics, Gods, demons, and potential apocalypses) are characterized by much denser or larger lead weights. These big weights weigh heavily on reality and create depressions which smaller weights, perhaps out of loneliness, gravitate towards.39

“ . . . OKAY, IF WE WANT TO HAVE ANY CHANCE OF LEAVING THIS PLACE, THEN WE REALLY SHOULD START WORKING TOGETHER.”40

“Bjlörk.”41

“RIGHT. LET’S START WITH SOMETHING EASY, YOUR NAME PERHAPS. YES, YOUR NAME.”42

“Pppbbbhhhttthhhtt.”43

“YOUR NAME. YOUR NAME WAS FROMIRE.44

WALTEN JOKELHAUPS FROMIRE. SAY IT.” 245

“Gottle’o’geer, gottle’o’geer.”46

“I CAN SEE WE’RE GOING TO HAVE TO WORK AT THIS.”47

Here we see Plot Twist. Or rather, what is left of him.48

Plot Twist is (or rather was) a God of Chaos, thus he speaks in nonsensical fragments. Mostly just because he wants to. Here we also see Graistone. Graistone lives in Plot Twist’s head. Graistone is a God of Order, thus he speaks in ALL CAPITALS, because this is the proper thing for a God of Order to do.49

Graistone could not currently physically manifest himself due to his lack of a body. The most he could manage was a slightly fuzzy voice and a washed out image of his former self. For now anyway.50

There was no extra magic floating around the pocket dimension that the pair were in for Graistone to feed on. Once Graistone could persuade Plot Twist to leave, Graistone would have a much better chance at fully existing and he could leave the company of this madman once and for all.51

Back on Edingar, Graistone had been tall even by God standards.52

He had been magnificent, a gigantic pillar of chrome and steel, shining almost constantly. And when he wasn’t shining, he was glistening, and when he wasn’t glistening, he was gleaming, and when he wasn’t gleaming, he was…and so on. Graistone had been a robot. While a cotton toga or some leather, fur and horns might have sufficed for some other, less orderly God, it would not do for Graistone. In the earliest stages of Edingar’s existence, Graistone had had to take the form of a massive granite block, this being the most orderly thing in a world of virginal chaos, still fresh and slightly sticky from the Big Bang.53

All double entrendrés aside, Graistone had been rather short for choice when it came to more mobile forms than a block of granite. He had had to accelerate a great many minds so that the things they invented could be used for his body. He had hoped, in vain, that the acceleration of the hundred or so minds he had chosen would cause the rest of the barbaric race to be a bit more enlightened.54

All that had really happened was that magic swords got invented a lot faster. Which were then used to kill a great many of the enlightened people for being such bloody smart asses.55

Graistone, although supposedly impartially neutral and gray in all things, was excessively vain and had an unhealthy love of his looks. The reason he was so shiny, was that if he became bored he could spend his spare time gazing at himself in…himself.56

His superior silicon brain, protected by a thick, temperature proof titanium skull, sent messages at quantum light speed via nanites along nerves made of gold (for better conductivity) to various parts of his body. Thus, he could be huge, and fast.57

His skin and head were made of titanium. Reinforced, segmented plates covered his complex perpetual motion clockwork joints, organs, fore arms, thighs and biceps (which were wonders in themselves).58

Mercury blood pumped by a nuclear heart kept his system clean and at full power. A pair of diamond lenses served for eyes.59

Graistone had no hair. His smooth, shiny dome glinted in the non-light of the pocket dimension. Graistone also had no mouth or nose. Rounded protrusions served the purpose of maintaining Graistone’s facial normalcy so that insecure people would know what to talk to and where to look. Speech came in the form of an electrical surge cerebrated from his mind and then filtered through a wonderfully simple yet insanely complex transistor box with a tuning fork attachment. The electrical surge’s frequency was tapped out via morse code and then transformed into a vibration that eventually came out as sound. The process took about four seconds. Thus, Graistone could maintain his stoic dumb oak facade whilst cogitating in circles around his various opponents.60

His chest was dominated by a segmented armor plate made of an ominous looking metal that kept the radiation from his heart in check.61

Bones made of Garium alloy from his home world were filled with memory cells that regenerated any damage Graistone happened to take. Unlikely as that may seem at this point.62

And now, we trampoline over to the other end of the spectrum. An end of the spectrum resplendent in bends and curves, twists and breaks. A side loaded with unadulterated Insanity with the capital letter.63

Plot Twist, is tall and spindly.64

He wears a loose velvet jumpsuit with a zig zag horizontal rainbow pattern running the entire length of it from ankle to collar.65

Around his waist is a hemp rope belt which he doesn’t really need because the suit is all one piece.66

His hair is technicolor neon vomit green and its shape is incomparable to anything other than a particular incident involving land mines and…more land mines.67

His eyes are…oh dear.68

One is thin and tilted, while small and colorless. The other is is the size of a honeydew with an orange and green spiral moving inwards toward the royal purple pupil at the center.69

His mouth is full of jagged teeth the color and texture of irradiated ivory. Though the teeth have between them the similarity of a brick to Jupiter, they fit together exactly into a solid quadrilateral whenever he closes his mouth. And whenever he opens it again again, the teeth have all changed shape or switched from top jaw to bottom jaw, or vice versa. The jigsaw arrangement appears to be structurally impossible to the naked eye and causes quite a bit of discomfort for people who look at him too long.70

He goes barefoot all of the time and the nails on his toes and fingers are long and pointed.71

Plot Twist was currently smiling. Not that there was a time when he wasn’t, but it’s good to be accurate.72

Plot Twist was also insane. But then, he always had been. Even when he went by another name.73

Back when he had been Fromire, Plot Twist had discovered how to bend the laws of reality to his liking and could do things like alter his personal gravity, slow down his aging process, turn things like friction, color and sound on and off like a light switch and generally make things happen for him.74

All that had changed when Graistone, God of Neutrality, Order, Law, Truth, Justice, and All Things Gray, had arranged for Fromire’s removal.75

Although Graistone played off the stoic dumb oak routine quite a lot, he wasn’t stupid.76

Graistone sat at the center of a web spun from lies and treachery so thick and so tangled, that he had had to race to the patent office to keep the Bureaucrats from stealing it.77

Graistone and Fromire had been arch enemies for quite a long time. Back and forth their battle was fought. The people pretended not to notice. They needed Fromire for his inventions and the wonders that he brought forth daily from his secret laboratory. They also needed Graistone because of that whole pesky space-time conwhatsit majigger.78

Eventually, Graistone had became tired of the endless waltz carried out each day, so he had decided to put an end to it.79

Permanently.80

Little did he know that his actions would create the greatest enemy of Order the universe had ever known.81

While it was true that Fromire had always been insane, Graistone had meant to make him terminally insane.82

He figured that once Fromire became a gibbering idiot (well, more of a gibbering idiot) then he would be out of the picture. Unfortunately, Plot Twist’s brain had retained the memory of its acquired powers. It had simply forgotten everything else. Now the people were definitely regretting their lack of Democratic involvement. Those that weren’t were too busy trying to exist in their own shape for more than five seconds.83

But now the shoes had turned and the table was on the other foot.84

The aftermath of the final war on Edingar had left the world in tatters. The more powerful Gods had attempted to flee.85

However, the prayers of the damned and dying, the wishes and thoughts that had once made those Gods stronger and more real, had bound them to the fate of the doomed planet and dragged them back as surely as lead sinks.86

Only the strongest of them all were able to escape the psychic pull of their followers. Them, and those who had no followers.87

At least none with conscious thoughts beyond:88

“IÄ! IÄ! CTHULHU FHTAGN!!”89

The place Plot Twist was in now was sort of a…pocket dimension nestled between the Trousers Of Time and the Sweat Pants Of Space that constituted the Three Legged Race Of Existence.90

The dimension was barren of any life whatsoever apart from the fugitive God of chaos and the God of order piggy backing along in his head. It had been tough going, leaving Edingar. What with impending doom closing in and other Gods jostling each other for the exit. Decisions had to be made quickly, or else you’d have an eternity of nothingness to kick yourself in.91

Plot Twist looked up and sighed. His exhalation turned into a thousand points of light, which in turn became a thousand tiny planets. They then faded away into nothing. The dimension had no moons, no star. Nothing as far as the eye could see.92

Well, if Plot Twist could not go home, then at least neither could Graistone.93

He sat up and began to wander.94

“AND ANOTHER THING . . . HEY, HEY! WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?”95

Plot Twist chuckled to himself. Why could he not understand?96

“We’re not Khaki Pants.”97

“…” Said Graistone.98

“NO…NO, I SUPPOSE WE’RE NOT AT THAT.”99

Thunder cracked and lightning boomed.100

Sentinel sat, alone and destitute, atop a spire of self imposed woe.101

His arms were wrapped around his shins and his nose was sitting on his knees.102

He realized distantly, that it was raining. He didn’t care.103

Nothing was real. Time was an illusion.104

He had lost everything. His home was destroyed, his legions defeated, and his Adria, oh pale, cold, dead, Adria…105

He looked up.106

Floating there, for all the world like the ultimate anti-Virgil 3, was Akromos.107

Despite his wretched and woebegone position, Sentinel still had the dignity to sneer.108

Akromos was Sentinel’s opposite in every way.109

Where Sentinel’s eyes were sable orbs whose irises burned with pure Red (a color that combined rust, blood and fire all in one go) and had pupils the hue of polished steel, Akromos’ eyes were unequivocally White (a color combining a wide range of alabaster, ice cap and supernova) with the iris being a cool cyan and the pupil being a burnished, rich goldenrod.110

Sentinel’s hair bore a lot of resemblance to his eyes. It was jet black, had red highlights, and was tipped with silver. It resembled other hair only in that it was ambiguously composed of carotin.111

However, it was composed of carotin in the same way that a rhinoceros horn is composed of carotin.112

It was raked backward in medium length, painful looking, razor sharp spikes that blurred the line between “fashion statement” and “organic defense” like a Junior Varsity student with an eraser and some white out, blurring the line between a fictional GPA and its distant cousin in reality.113

Akromos’ hair was the shade of fresh wheat in autumn. It was thick and soft like your favorite uncle’s favorite carpet and smelled just as nice. It had no decoration to speak of and hung to his waist.114

Sentinel wore a trench coat strewn seemingly at random with chains, zippers, hooks and spikes.115

The trench coat was made somewhat incongruous by the long cape he wore.116

Sentinel was a being of great power and could choose any form he wished. This was simply him at rest.117

If he wished to fly, the cape would vanish to be replaced by a pair of leathery wings.118

If he wished to fight melee style, the complicated trappings would evanesce, leaving him in a pair of light trousers and the Edingar equivalent of a tank top.119

Sentinel wore thick boots that somehow contrived to be leathery and rubbery at the same time. The soles were made of steel and spikes ran the gamut-and-back-again from heel to toe.120

These were serious boots. (Which are really just sensible shoes that have become irrevocably evil.)121

There would be no silly splashing about in rain puddles for this pair of boots.122

If there was to be any bipedal activity involving puddles, it would be at a leisurely, smug pace, and the puddles would be more of a red color.123

Akromos wore a robe of white, with official looking runes in blue and yellow crisscrossing it every which way.124

He did not wear shoes (actually, he didn’t wear shoes the way respectable japanese families and Martha Stewart didn’t wear shoes, rather than the way Plot Twist didn’t wear shoes. It’s the subtle differences that count). Every one of his toe nails was a perfect little white crescent moon with healthy pink clouds beneath.125

Akromos was an angel. His great feathery wings pounded the air with majestic fluctuations and his halo still shone blindingly. Akromos’ wings seemed composed entirely of feathers. Large feathers would drop off and fade into nothing in mid air whenever he moved, only to be replaced by rapidly regenerating feathers, which would eventually drop off themselves.126

Both parties were extremely pale. However, they were different kinds of pale.127

Sentinel was pale, where “pale” lay closest in mental word association to “graveyard”.128

Akromos was pale the way our moon is pale. Cold and beautiful, like the Aurora Borealis projected and magnified through the Hope Diamond.129

“Go away,” said Sentinel.130

Akromos ignored him and continued to stare.131

The thing about Akromos was that he could not be condescending, or petty, or vengeful, or anything else the imperfect human race was capable of. He could be righteous (but not self righteous), he could be kind and caring, but if he was really angry at you, he could sort of…forget you.132

Sort of, make it abundantly clear that your afterlife knowledge of what Nirvana looked like would be limited to the big, closed gates.133

It wasn’t a look with malicious intent of any sort. He looked almost sad, almost dissapointed.134

He’d failed you…135

Akromos was giving Sentinel this look now. Sentinel was not entirely sure that he didn’t deserve it.136

For the longest time they did nothing but stare at each other.137

“Go away,” repeated Sentinel.138

“You know that’s not possible,” replied Akromos without ruffling a feather.139

“look, if we just work together-” Akromos was interrupted.140

“Oh sure, right. Me? You? Sure, sure, yeah, pull the other one, it has got bells on.”141

Akromos raised a quizzical eyebrow.142

“What?”143

Sentinel shrugged and spoke in a voice that was both patronizing and patronized.144

“It’s what you say if you are, ipso facto, in the state commonly known to your average lay-man as ‘disbelief’. I Dunno.”145

“No, I didn’t think you did.”146

“No! You don’t think! You never did! You’re not real!” roared Sentinel irrationally.147

Akromos sighed without breath. It was going to be a long day. Or rather, it would have been, had anything existed.148

Sentinel chuckled darkly.149

“What?”150

“All this time…I thought you were just some angel serving your God. But it turns out that you are that God. Why?”151

“Why what?” said Akromos.152

“Why hide behind such a facade?”153

“People were happier that way.”154

“But it was a lie! You LIED!”155

Sentinel’s eyes were wide with horror, he was as close to “mortified” as his killer’s mug would allow. His hands made empty twitching cups for the sky to fill with something, ahything, to keep them from strangling something.156

“I-”157

“LIAR!”158

Akromos gave Sentinel that look again.159

Eventually he spoke.160

“People don’t know what they want. They never have, and they never will. I could have made them happy. I could have become ruthless like you, emotionless like you. I could have killed you.”161

“I had emotion.” said Sentinel reproachfully.162

“That was the problem!” said Akromos, switching gears without missing a beat.163

“You felt too much! You filled people with confusing things they didn’t need like love and hate and darkness and passion and, and, EVERYTHING! You didn’t care either way! The world was your toy, and you would have gladly smashed it to pieces just to hear the sound it made! It didn’t matter that you loved that stupid girl! You-”164

Abruptly, Akromos seemed to realize his fatal mistake and clapped his hands over his mouth.165

Sentinel’s scowl deepened to a new, previously undiscovered level of deepness.166

He stood and faced the wide eyed Akromos who was still floating there with his hands over his mouth, horrified.167

Sentinel made two fists and struck them together with a sound like a galactic gong colliding with a solar thunderclap.168

Black and red lightning crackled and sparked between his two hands. Slowly, but surely, he brought them apart and opened them, palms upward. In each hand, a sword appeared.169

If asked afterward to describe the weapons, an innocent bystander would have replied:170

“Uuuummmmm...blurry. Yeah. Yeah, that’s it. Blurry, really, really blurry.”171

The weapons were formless and could only be detected by their high pitched whining and the blur they they made in the air. They were swords forged of pure hatred and anything they struck would hurt. A lot.172

Sentinel grasped his newly forged weapons and assumed a stance that communicated via body language what no amount of machismo or verbal intimidation could do in its place:173

I’m. Going. To. Kill. You.174

Just then, the world ended. Again.175

The four dimensional immigrants found themselves in a smoky bar filled with other less than savory occupants.176

Sentinel looked around, his hate weapons dissipating as his fiery emotions cooled. He peered about at his fellow fugitives.177

“Don’t tell me we’re-”178

“Yes,” said Akromos. “we are.”179

“Bugger. Oh well. Mozzletoffs all around. This is going to be a long night.”180

“TECHNICALLY ONLY JEWISH PEOPLE CAN HAVE MOZZLETOFFS, IN CASE ANYBODY CARED.”181

“Wheeeeee!!!! The coats are my friends!!!”182

1 Pay attention, dammit! This is important!183

2 There once was a man by the name of Walten Jokelhaups Fromire, rivaling Da Vinci in innovation and ingenuity, rivaling Rube Goldberg in complexity and creativity, rivaling Nikola Tesla in vision and imagination, and surpassing Vincent Van Gough in insanity. When Fromire looked at something, he never saw the people or the object, he saw what could have been, what used to be, what might yet be. A scientist in the abnormal sense. Some called him a genius, others called him an idiot, although there really is no official name for someone who has created a megaton thermal explosive substance from a mixture of ordinary yeast and cabbage. He hated rules of all kinds, defied them, and attempted to break them by any means necessary.184

3 One who, instead of saving Dante from the hell hound, is carrying a studded leash, some ominous looking biscuits and a Disproportionate Response sign board.185