A little wordy Blurb
Slam Ironic stands at the top of a very tall, dark tower. A tower assembled through years of manipulation, villainy, thievery and brutality. He is the villain's villain, a wry, hateful being who looks down upon every single thing with contempt and prejudice. His breath smells like burnt tissue paper and his eyes are a cold, washed out brown. Like sand piled over a grave. He sleeps, eats, breathes and moves like any mere man, but checking his pulse would just give you an unspeakable rhythm. Some think it's the sound of life, of every recorded being that has or will be, mashed into his veins. It would be impossible to calculate his true age, he's slipped through time and space too much for it to matter any more. He's immortal and invincible. He has never felt love, but throughout history he has made friends. Some of them scabs upon civilizations, others warlords and great leaders. Any attempt to record his presence has been thwarted by his own hand. He's read every document ever written about himself, not hoping, but wondering if they could guess something about him they he does not know. Through time, he's collected anything that could give him away into a structure, a physical entity derived from myths and legends about himself. This fortress, the Stone Cloud, is a great library, a physical embodiment of his curiosity about what he is. It forms an entire city, a great, sprawling, airborne metropolis. A long time ago, he left Earth to attempt to seal himself within a distant, dying sun. His hope was that he could become one with its energies, and when it's glorious, life-giving end came, he wanted it to take him with it. Where dead suns sleep. He returned to when it was first born, not as a physical entity, but as an idea. The objective concept of a light giver, dreamed up by a cloud of incomprehensible particles that would one day assemble themselves into the will of a god. He planted himself an impossible number of years back in time. Through time. But despite his conviction, his simple, unstoppable desire for peace, his time was wasted. Sitting for trillions of years in a state of constant thought, his concentration was broken when a wayward god, seeking easy entry into the physical world, used the energies of the sun to transfer himself through space and into a physical body. As the solar energies fused into tangible omniscience, shattering any chance of achieving the understanding he so desired, Slam Ironic felt Hate. He despised this all-powerful being for its carelessness and, channeling his dying home's final waves of life, lashed out at the god with all of his might. The god was shattered, destroyed, obliterated. Whatever earthly dominions he had sway over were released and put into a thousand year long horrific disarray. Control was lost. Slam Ironic's body was destroyed, but, in a fit of spite and contempt, he forced his way into the god's would-be physical form, infesting its newly erased mind with his own. Tendrils of his immense hate latched onto the complicated physical workings of the god-body and devoured the mental barriers that would reduce the body to a useless sack of meat for anyone else. Slam Ironic hung in space, the single most powerful thing in the known universe, learning how to use his new form. He spent hundreds of years teaching himself to think, to comprehend, and with an incalculable effort gained a metaphysical foothold.
This is about the people who will stop him.
lol jk this is the 'prologue' to low rudge
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I see you jockin' me.
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