Cathy
The branches were still scarred from him. She walked where he had once slithered. Her eyes saw what he had once seen. Melancholia's fingers touched what Edon's touched.

He had unknowingly carved a path that others would follow. While no soul with a sense of benevolent morality had yet strode upon it, the trail was still there: It always was, and it always would be. The goddess of sadness sluggishly placed one foot down and followed it by another, staring at the twisted, golden limbs below her. Her gaze was serpentine, her fangs glistening beneath the stars.
The only reminders were in her head. As she witnessed new gods slip from ripe fruiting bodies, she could not help but wonder why nobody seemed to care. Did they not know? Could they not feel it? *Him?* She flinched; the pain of watching them emerge was unbearable, for she was critically aware of their fateful agony. The pain they were cursed to go through, the terrible lives they were destined to live.

In a way, Melancholia was unlike the snake. She was not to outright consume an unborn deity, but to consume its innocence. To show them the world before they fell victim to it; show them how Yggdrasil did not care; to show them that committing such a heinous crime went unpunished; to numb them from their premature pain.

The goddess was an elegant creature. She bore a peculiar figure, but she was not ugly. Her body was slim and tall, sculpted androgynously and crafted with horrific care. Beyond her frigid gaze, fog clouded her innards. When she cried, it condensed into droplets of wretched water and spilled through her hollow eye sockets. Feathery wings lined her underarms, yet they were rarely used. They were white and angelic. One part of her was an angel; the other was an imp. Horns spiked from her head, complimented by similarly pointed ears.
She was a beautiful evil, a poisonous flower.

The silhouette of the murderess progressed through the upper branches. Even from afar, she wreaked of blueness. Many of the fruits were impenetrable, untouched by her looming aura of desolation. However, others were not, and showed a visible change in color. A new darkness. The dimming stars were hesitantly beginning to blacken her stride.
How blessed the sky was, for it did not behold the star of Melancholia.

Music had long been a neglected duty of hers. It only ever sounded in the background, outshined by the magnificent depression. With each step she took, another note rang outward. The song of doom; the melody of fate.

** **
They were all the same to her. Eventually, she would have to chose. Could she not do all? If she did, it would kill her. Could she not let go of her life in one last divine action? No. She could not. There was still much more sadness to spread. More pandemonium, more harm. More thoughts. More. More. More.
"To all of those who I cannot save, I sincerely apologize. Perhaps one day, we shall meet, and only then will you possibly be spared."
*But it will not be enough.*
Her victim was ahead; she could see it. The pulsating fruit, dripping with the benign energy of chaos. Doom had placed it in her path. A smile crossed her face, accompanied by a motherly urge to embrace the baby before she destroyed it. At last, she had reached her destination.

Melancholia's fingers were soothing and gentle. Breaking through the protective layer of skin, she touched the embryo. They began to bleed. Indigo, indigo everywhere.
Blood.
 Blood.
 Blood.
She found their hand and held it.
She touched their veins and opened them.
She took the blunt of their fleeting happiness and absorbed it.
The deity released an innate signal of pain, but she did not stop. She was preparing them. A bulbous bead of blood splattered upon her arm. Melancholia stared at it; then, she smudged it onto her fingers and continued to torture the being.
Throughout this, she was oddly gentle. Her intentions were not malevolent - in her mind, they were not. She was not killing the god, but rather, replacing its insides with something more... Suitable.

When she was satisfied with her mess, she pulled her arms out of the fruit and hugged it. Divine teardrops leaked from her eyes, and as they fell, they patched up the holes in the egg. The deity still needed more time. Perhaps that would be minutes, perhaps that would be years. Regardless. They needed to absorb what she had given them. Their intended domain needed to be contorted and shredded by the pure dejection she had fed them.

Drunk off of crystalline sorrow, she laid herself down and waited for the person to emerge and thank her. Only after she recieved her appreciation would she leave.
Danny
The pulsating fruit convulsed and writhed as Melancholia's arms eased their way inside the yet to be bloomed flower, deeper still into the embryo. The light within pulsed and swirled as the scream of an infant could be heard inside. A red mixes with blue to create a vibrant indigo. Squirming, crying, shifting in agony, the embryo within convulses further as the light begins to fade, as the god within's blood turns more and more blue. The screams of the unborn begin to shift, slur, warping into unholy inhumane cries. Whimpers. Before finally it falls still. All the light within the seed has faded, except for a tiny blue pulse, once every couple of seconds. A heartbeat, and a weak one at that. 

A splattering of neon cyan splashes out and covers the attacker's arm, and with that, the embryo sat still. The little blue light wasn't even pulsing anymore. But somehow, Melancholia would be able to feel the energy coming off the dormant seed as she pulled her arms out. She would be met with silence. Cold, dreaded silence. As she lay there, it would take hours, nearly the entire day, as the stars dimmed darker and the night begun, finally movement within the shell would be able to be noticed. Blue flashes, slowly at first, begun emanating from the weakened casing. Slowly it continued to increase in pace as it begun to properly approach that of a heart. Then, screaming once again, less infantile and more mature, but it continued to shift and warp, turning into unholy screeching from time to time.

At first there was no movement from the flower that refused to blossom. Then it shook. It rocked. It even risked toppling off of the branch. Then slowly, with more careful attention, a hand pressed against the membrane from the inside. The inky black swirl of protective layering stretched as a second hand pressed against it, as if they were reaching for Melancholia herself. Slower still, a face, a silently screaming face pushed its way against this corrupted structure as the section of limb itself that it was attached to appeared to blacken and warp, twisting into a darker more gnarled and knotty version of itself. As it looked like the skin was finally about to rip, the being within stopped moving, the face of horror and agony plastered across the barely visible surface. Then an eye opened up on the outside. 

A singular, yellow eye with a ring of red to mark the difference between the iris and sclera. Then a second eye, and another. One by one, dozens, maybe even hundreds of eyes opened up, giving off a brief bit of illumination as they all stared blankly at Melancholia, unblinking. Finally, there was a sickening squelch as foul smelling, yellow ichor begins to spill from the center of the face as a rip begins to form within the lining. This was no longer a fruit, but a pod of rotten filth that should never be allowed to see the light of day. The poor corrupted immortal soul within was slowly pressing out more, as the skin of the shell ripped more, exposing a young, pale skinned, pink haired woman's face. 

Finally with a sickeningly wet pop, the pod rips all the way, spilling the newborn god out, nude and vulnerable, surrounded by a deluge of putrid embryotic fluid. The newborn goddess lies there, sticky, still, covered in the result of her corruption. It doesn't take long though for her to begin coughing, racking her lungs as she begins vomiting the same fluid up, retching and kneeling down with her forehead on the splintery bark. Inhaling for the first time in her life, she sits up dramatically, her long pink and blue hair cascading down, covering her modesty before she stares over at her torturer blankly. 

"Mother?"
Theodore
Cycles begetting cycles. A snake eating its own tail. This wasn't what **He** Would have wanted. Seventeen years ago, Edon, the Serpent of Fate had committed a cardinal sin. On that day the God of Purity had failed in his attempt to fulfil the purpose he had been created for. To keep the all-mother clean. To be her caretaker. Seventeen years ago, he had allowed this *Heresy* To occur. Seventeen years ago, he had been branded a **Traitor**. Yet despite those seventeen years passing, the memory remained fresh in his mind. The God of Purity, failing to complete his mission. Killing the blasphemer, and erasing him from existence. Even despite his failure, Gaia had allowed him a brief respite from his ingrained purpose. Allowed him closeness with another. Allowed him to feel like *Himself* For but a single day. Perhaps by succeeding in his endeavour this time...

...**She** Would let him be a real person, just for a while.

With a sound like tearing paper, a triangular rift in space opened, and through it fell Pureman. There was no fancy flipping, nor even an elegant twirl as he dropped down, just a short walk away from Melancholia and the Newborn Goddess. He landed heavily, knees bending as they absorbed the impact. Though he kicked up a cloud of dust, not a single speck of it sullied his knee-high, dark grey boots. Even still, he brushed himself off as he straightened up. He carried a strange aura about him. One that spoke of purposeful serenity. Everything around him seemed *More defined*. Easier to distinguish from everything else. The ambient dust that dared flit into his vicinity simply vanished into a thin, white smoke.

Pureman swept his cape from behind him, it spread out, fluttering in the wind and billowing to his left as he strode solemnly towards Jinxara and... Her.

Melancholia. It was no secret amongst those familiar with Edon's tale that she was bad news. He remembered the vision the serpent had shared. Edon, Himself and Melancholia, all silhouetted in orange, shaded with black. It made sense to him, with the benefit of hindsight. All it can take for a man to topple from the edge of sanity is the slightest push. A push he was all too familiar with. The Blue Goddess, in all her intensity. In all her utter despair. There she sat, ignorant to everything around herself, lazing about in satisfaction with her deed like a python with a full belly. Cycles begetting cycles. He felt something in his gut, then. An old, familiar *Itch*. His instinct, his ingrained purpose. Purify, make clean, sterilise. Remove.

He hadn't even noticed the axe in his hand, yet he clenched it so tightly that the metal groaned under his grip. What a strange feeling it was. To know one's own purpose. To have such an opportunity to fulfil it. To curse it all the same, as he did. His three eyes darted between Melancholia and the New Goddess. Her bright-pink hair was striking, yet it seemed- in his opinion, that was all that was striking about her. He sensed pain. He sensed confusion and sickness. The stench of the vile *Slop* That surrounded her made his eyes *Water*.

"Disgusting." He murmured as he looked at the amniotic sludge surrounding the newborn goddess. It smelt like rotting meat and the salt sting of tears. He could practically *Taste* It. He turned his gaze back to Melancholia, speaking once more.

"The mortals have a saying. If you see one fetid cockroach, there are many more hiding in the walls. I suppose *You* Are the most fetid of them all. Another pest in the garden. Just like *He* Was. Not a slug, not this time. Too many legs."

Another battle. Another go-around. Cycles begetting cycles. As he stared at Melancholia, with his three piercing eyes, his gaze softened, though his tone remained resolute.

"You must miss him."
William
*"Broken people make broken people"*

The words echoed in Rav'nixander's very essence as it felt the sympathic screech of the god-sprouting tree. Its reaction was the same as with most unflinching expressions of divine shenaniganery: Splinter and investigate. And so it was that the tiniest shard of blue flickered amid the branches, patrolling until it reached the darkened corridor of fruits and at its river-source the former consort of the dead god of Eclipses, along with Pureman and... Another shard at the top of the tree flickered an observation: New star coinciding with gaia-reaction, and the implication became clear. Rav'nixander took no judgement from the state of the god, fruits came in all kinds and the gods the same... But the reaction, the plant's call to alarm, that was the judgement; *A* Transgression happened here.

"What did. *Each*. Of you. Do?"
Maria
Near Gaia's crown, a small singularity of fog appeared before quickly growing in response to the cosmic disturbance. Something was wrong, he could feel it, he had to get there *Now*. The cloud of mist continued to swell and grow, but evidently it was not fast enough for the god conjuring it. Screaming in frustration and righteous fury, Wyrd shredded through the fabric of reality itself before the mysterious cloak of fog for he teleportation could fully form. He didn't even need to see the culprit to know who it was. There were only two gods wicked enough to commit such a taboo, and he saw to the death of one of them himself.

"MELANCHOLIA!" He screeched on his apparition. Typically, Wyrd spoke in a more calm, humanoid tone, mostly for the benefit of his younger siblings. He knew that they might find him... Disturbing if he were to speak in the manner that was more natural to him. Consumed by rage as he was, though, the god of monsters hadn't the patience to restrain himself. His voice tore from his body as the shriek of the wind and the maddened howl of countless beasts. The long neck of the deer hung limp as his torso rose to face her and the seam that split his body opened to voice his rage, the countless razor-sharp teeth bristling within giving him the appearance of a monstrous mouth attached to some invisible nightmare. "I KNOW IT WAS YOU!"

Wyrd's limp head dangled around to face Melancholia, his cold eyes staring daggers at her. He knew the others would try to talk to her, to reason with her, to tell her why she was wrong. It would get them nowhere. Only pain would serve to teach her. Not that she was wrong, not that she should do better in the future.

It would teach her what a mistake it was to continue coming back to life.

"MELANCHOLIA! YOU SHOULD KILL YOURSELF NOW!" The god of monsters howled furiously as his body sprouted a number of horrific spider-like legs to skitter towards his prey with. "BECAUSE WHEN I'M DONE WITH YOU, YOU'LL WISH YOU WERE DEAD!"
Claire
*Clink. Clink. Clink.*

It's the sound of distant hammering and the fire of the forge that signals Pyralith's arrival before she ever steps foot in the area. She had *Felt it.* A horrid wave of pain and suffering that twisted at something low in her heart, something primal, an instinctive need to protect her mother. What had happened now? How often would something horrific happen to this world that it could keep so many gods perpetually busy? Who now caused so much trouble that it had the dwarf goddess rushing to find the culprit? Would this cycle ever end? Even under the fire of the forge and under each thundering blow of a hammer, these problems continued to crop up, pushed to the surface by the ever growing waves of annoying pissants looking for something to prove, looking for some new horrific thing to do.

It was *Desperate.*

Down near the midst of it all came a horrible pillar of fire, rigid and harsh, the roar of the flames sounding as if one great pained beast, and in the center of it all was the stout silhouette of *Pyralith*, the Forge Goddess. Even in the midst of Wyrd's anger, the god of the dwarves seemed eerily calm, her face scrunched up in a familiar anger, one that almost looked right on the creases and sections of her face. As if her cold rage was how she was *Meant* To feel. As still as the stone, as burning as the forge. Her nearly non-existent neck craned to take in the damage, survey the scenario, brows furrowed and magma gaze burning with indignation. Within herself, her power shifted, pouring into the singular instance of her that was present at the tree.

The fire around Pyralith dissipated as she stepped forth, eyes tracking slowly onto Wyrd, and then Melancholia. Her singular arm raised, pointing at the goddess in question with one fat finger.

**"That was you, then?"** 

The dwarf's head tilted, eyes tired and hateful as she glared across the distance. 

**"Alright. Let's get this over with, boys."**
Trisha
Seventeen years.

It was almost blissful. Xanthous almost... Felt tired. Felt old. Would history simply repeat itself? A scream had ripped the sky open, tore it in two. Even now, even as Xanthous no longer had his heart, he had mobilized a small part of his dry Divinity to go scout out what had happened. Because of his fight with the God of Purity, he was severely weakened, and, as a result, believed he would not be playing a major part in this fight.

**Not anymore.**

Almost quietly, he appeared. He did not make a showcase of himself. He did not part space like a flimsy curtain. No. He simply just... Enjoyed his existence. Xanthous took a singular breath, letting his clothes flutter as his feet touched down on the sturdy branch of Gaia. How long? He smiled. And then his eyes found Melancholia... And a Newborn Goddess.

"Oh." He said. He walked. It was a purposeful stride. Relaxed, and yet, observant. His aura was calm, serene, peaceful. To any who knew Xanthous before, his temperament had changed. Where he walked, he left behind and endless cycle of existence. Cold anger filled his veins, his crimson eyes locking onto the vestige of the Goddess that he had come to hate.

**Melancholia.**

He stopped not too far away from the two, his eyes flitting over the other Gods who had heeded the call. Pureman, Rav'nixander, and two other Gods he did not know. He turned back to Melancholia and her kin. "It has been a while... Has it not?" He seemed almost... Sad. "And so it begins."

Xanthous extended a hand. **"Tell me... Why did you do it?"**
Aaron
Seriously? They were doing this? AGAIN?!

Triticea had been finally starting to relax a bit when the piercing scream ran out through the air. 

The first time she had heard it, when Edon had become the Devourer, she hadn't known what it had meant. She had failed to respond to it, and those that had appeared to face Edon had allowed him to escape. That had been her own fault, her own folly.

It was a mistake that she would not repeat.

In an instant her basket fell to the ground, abandoned on the floor of the Valley. An entire branch of the tree seemed to erupt as a stalk of wheat shot from it like pus gushing from a wound. All of Triticea, save for a tiny fragment of her at Thana's weapon making ritual, was absorbed into one as the Wheatmother took shape.

The sheaf that had sprouted curled into a circle, hundreds of furious eyes opening to stare down at the aberration and the monster who had created it. The Abundances, now epic divine weapons, sprouted out like the stingers of a wasp from two of her four wheatlike appendanges.

Unlike the others though, she did not demand answers. She did not scream for vengeance, or justice, or anything of the sort. She did not condemn Melancholia with her words. She did not address the triangle headed god that she'd never met, nor Rav'Nixander of many words and few actions, or the self-proclaimed emperor of them all, or even the one who had fought Edon side by side with her during the ritual of mortality.

No. There was nothing left for her to say. 

Gaia had spoken. Gaia had screamed out for her children to avenge the sibling that had been stolen from them by the liar, by the thief. There were no words that could reply to an order like that, only action.

Melancholia, who Triticea had been looking for since the Devourer's final attack on the World Tree, had at last reared her head. 

Finally, *Finally*, it was time to give the most selfish of her siblings exactly what she deserved for everything that she had done against Gaia.
Teresa
`"I never left... Old friend."`

*A wailing voice calls towards Pureman from a cacophony of breaking bones and tearing flesh. A twisted foot drags its fickle skin across the hardened bark of Gaia, pulling bits of sinew and viscera from its form as the monstrosity lumbers towards the main event. What remained of Thana was mutilated in a state of disrepair. Lowly sunken eyes shimmer with bloodshot veins stretched across the darkened pupil and a drooling forked tongue rolls from a fractured jaw that clings on with thinly veiled stretches of muscle. Was introducing the visage of such abject terror in the past back to reality a smart idea, no... Did it bolster the belief in the monster further, absolutely? This wretched split of the goddess the devourer inhabits is at its youngest and will only grow more resilient now his return was clear to the world.*

*Fate was set in stone, but change... Change is adaptive...*

*With a resounding crunch, Thana's neck snaps harshly to the side, then the entire head lops clean off. Rolling to the ground as the remaining exposed throat cackles with that all too familiar laugh, the windpipe snakes up and sunders the small mortal body in half as the remains of a colossal serpent slithers its way from the desecration. Black scales are painted in a light orange hue... Two hungry eyes stare with so little thought but rage.*

*It was not aimed at the expected targets... However. One would expect this kind of arrival to seek the death of those around them, the innocent and the unknowing that had so little time in their mediocre lifespans to comprehend the abysmal fangs eternity had clamped so far into their necks. Life begets death. A sentence this beast could only dream was true.*

*No, this time. Their attention was solely focused on Melancholia and the defiled goddess she had influenced.*

*Quivering legs shudder and break under the weight of the serpent's body but force themselves upright, a bloodied torso carrying the half spawn of Edon.*
_ _

`" Strings... Puppets... Kye-heh, to think you could tie a noose around your brain and forget what you stood for. "`

*His attention shifts solely to Melancholia with a sharp turn. The segments of the snake's neck crack and contort to unorthodox shapes and nonsensical displays of colour that contrast with the peaceful nature of the tree, once again this place of life had been converted to a plain of misery, just like the start of his life. Repetition was growing so cold. Thank God what remained of Thana was so focused on the creation of a divine weapon elsewhere.*

`"You no longer sing my song dearest. I no longer sing yours; this audience is your choir and together the only symphony you deserve to hear is the cracking of your own fruit, again. And again. And again. "`

*The snakes venomous maw only smirks with malice as his gaze falls upon the more familiar faces, Wyrd, Rav'nixander, Xanthous, Pyralith and Triticea. Faces all associated with tragedy in an age before now. The wild, the neutral, the jester, the ignorant and the zealot. Oh, how now would be a time to smear their distracted selves into the floor and flee back to the safety of a conflicted vessel. So many words were shouted and advances were made, but nobody was doing anything. It was time to correct that.*

`"You are young, you do not understand. You believe in death and I intend to keep it that way. I give you the chance to die and come back as what you want to be. Free of the manacles of the mind and sickness bestowed upon that fuzzy little malleable head. "`
_ _

*The devourer takes no steps closer, only raises his left bloodied palm and sends a huge inky spike from the ground behind Jinxara aimed towards the skull. Shadowy snakes coil and dance around the spike as it manifests, the grim black ink coagulating into crimson red as wandering eyes lean towards Xanthous, they looked different...*

`"The jester no longer dances for the wrong king? Unexpected, but welcome. "` *Edon and prophecies were always a duality. His truths were vague and foreshadowed with nothing but unpredictable. He had never truly known what he was talking about, things simply fell into place around the tyrant and his brooding influence.*

*Unfortunately, this battleground was not his fight, and it would never be. So many angry divine pitchforks had already been thrust at the opposition that his own rotting aura would do little to waver the crowd. After-all, what was the half-construed snake but a distraction to the showdown that could finally grant them all peace? Right?*

`"I hope you live, Melancholia. Only so I can rip you apart eternally for what you and the putrid bug did to me. That's what you want now, isn't it? Eternity? "`
Debra
*Olivia couldn't stay silent anymore, she left a piece of herself with Thatla, her mortals would wait... This... Abomination would come first. Her eyes were ablaze with fire, she remembered how Melancholia betrayed her trust. Triticea had convinced her to put that hatred aside, but she could no longer. As she felt the anger burn she felt her own phenix in her sword respond to her anger the sword hilt was glowing red with a readiness at its masters calling. As she walked down the tree to see many gods some she knew some she had only heard of in whispers Pureman, Rav'nixander, Wyrd, Pyralith, Xanthous, Triticea and Thana. Most of these were stronger than her, and older but with that came wisdom. As she came to stop beside Triticea she finally spoke.*

"Melancholia why would you stoop this low? Not only did you betray me but now you corrupt an innocent child a newborn god?! This is unforgivable, if you can do this once what's to say you won't do it to more. In this I will give my last breath to stop you."

*She looked at the newborn god lying in her own filth, and sent forth a cleansing fire to lick up and expell the gross sticky filth that covered her.*

"You child... I would be careful not to call this wretch your mother... She is a evil vile creature..."
Rita
*Vanos makes its entrance far more quietly than the others, wordlessly slipping through Pureman's rift and settling down behind him. The presence of so many other gods around it is oppressive, and so it instinctively seeks to blend in, to mask its presence among them, to avoid the eyes of the crowd. Vanos hates the eyes of the crowd, it knows, though why is lost to it.*

 *The stakes here are clearly far too high for incautious action, at any rate, even if it had a much better understanding of them than it does. Glancing past the array of furious gods and the source of their ire, Vanos shifts its focus to the newborn. Under a different set of circumstances, their positions might well have been reversed, it realizes. Its nature calls out to obliterate it, and perhaps that is the logical course, but destroying something so new and barely formed seems... Hollow. At the very least, it should have the chance to make a few choices first.*
William
And then **Laughter.**

It was a cackle, a beautifully deep yet feminine cackle that echoed from deep withing the fruit- strange, mainly because the fruit didn't seem to be that deep. The laughter continued, down the branches, throughout the entire tree - announcing to everyone that **She was here.**

**"IS MY BIRTH SO EXTRAORDINARY THAT MY BRETHREN MUST WELCOME ME TO THIS WORLD?"** The voice seemed to have multiple layers. **A beautiful, yet, abnormal** Sound that sounded more like music playing in just the right way to string together words. 

The fruit gave way. Nyanbastet walked out of the abyss that was the fruit's mouth, **Tendrils of darkness** Desperately trying to cling to her. But she kept on walking, **Almost leisurely**, and stepped onto the bark of her mother. The tongue retreated back into the mouth of the fruit the very next second. The fruit then... *Collapsed* In on itself, vanishing into nothingness and **Disappearing from existence.**

Though the other Gods could not see it, Nyanbastet was smirking, almost giddy at the circumstances of her birth. Ignoring the others for just a moment (*There was so much to look at!*), she set her one eye on Jinxara. She leaned down low, properly examining her. An aura rolled off of her, one that was similar to Nyanbastet's. Strange... It almost seemed to be **Structured**. Disappointing, then. **"You're not normal, are you?"** She sounded almost amused.

Nyanbastet wasn't stupid. She could sense the *Wrongness* Emanating for Melancholia. Then all these other Gods... They weren't here for her, then. But it was *Chaotic*, and Nyanbastet giggled to herself. All of these Gods... She couldn't properly give her opinion on them. Not yet. 

Nyanbastet resumed her tall, standing position. **"Good luck."** She said, inclining her head toward Jinxara. And then she vanished, reappearing on a higher branch. She was a spectator... For now, at least.
Cathy
The taste of sin was bitter. It slipped down her cerulean throat and carved a pit in her stomach; a peculiar and disgraceful feeling, yet more comforting than anything else she had experienced. In the midst of pure malignance, she discovered who she was. Her purpose revolved around how she caused pain.
How she made others hurt.
How she made herself hurt.
She was destined to break the established laws of Yggdrasil, to gouge into the eyes of her acquaintances and call them all fools. At last, she felt at peace with herself.

A benign breeze rippled over the branches. As the fruiting body wreathed in dying agony, the goddess remained seated. Her dress cascaded from the tree's thick arm, waving above the roots and Void Sea. She saw the ships of mortals. Confident with this new version of herself, she flicked a finger at them; their sails would turn blue, as would the boats and the humans who accompanied them. No harm was done to the creatures, for her intent was not to directly hurt. Melancholia wanted to spread herself.
By committing such a heinous crime, she did not intentionally affect the child as she would those who reacted. This was her moment; her explanation, her final chance to preach what she had always believed. 

The birth of the newborn goddess was grotesque yet beautiful, and the one who had started the debacle watched with great interest. She was a chaotic wretch, drenched in her own slime. In spite of her very clear dispirited appearance, Melancholia recognized a unique grace about her: Or, rather, the lack of.
Her legs stretched outwards. The desolate deity stood, sprawled out her winged limbs, and embraced her daughter. She stroked the girl's face.
Sensed her future.
Her doom.
Mis**P**Laced
**A**Nger
I**N**
A confi**D**Ant.
**E**Verlasting
**M**Ournfulness
Placed up**O**N
I**N**Nocent
**I**Ntegrity,
B**U**Rnt
And **M**Utilated.

A teary drop of blood spilt from her nose and leaked into her creation's bubblegum hair. Ripping a part of her dress off, she turned it into something wearable and handed it to the youngen. There was a faint moment of simple silence before the wave of fury hit.
```Jinxara```

The tear marked the end of her self-sabotaging ways.

He was an unexpectantly recurring character in her narcissistic tale. Whether he was a friend of the serpent or a great foe, she did not know. Did she need to? The air around him wreaked of noxious dryness, and, although it was incredibly difficult to decipher what he felt behind the metallic mask, she sensed deeply rooted depression. It turned the atmosphere indigo, wreaking all that had been cleansed by his simple presence. His name materialized in her mind.

Pureman made her feel unwanted.

Her heart raced with the ecstasy of power. She was in love with the lack of control, his absolute hatred: his fascination with failure. Seventeen years ago, Yggdrasil's demon had been born. It was not Edon. It was Melancholia. While the god of purity saw another mess, she saw her true potential.
Indeed, Melancholia was satisfied with herself. She was satisfied with him as well.

"I would consider myself.. A spider." Her eyes lit up as though she were intrigued by the topic, and she broke away from her daughter to unite with him. "You know that I am there, but you mustn't disturb me, for I am a benign bug living in a hostile world. I am good for this environment."
As she spoke, her fingers gently stroked the blade of his murderous axe. It was sharp enough to cut them open; however, she showed no reaction to this. She smudged her ichor upon his clothing and kindly smiled, her pulse racing. Her gaze remained monotonously desolate.

The goddess released a terrible, frigid laughter. "I wish I could..."
One moment, his death was hers. The next, she was hopelessly despising the creature. Was this empathy? The only thing she could truly detect was his self betrayal, yet even that was weak. Feeling his cold glare become slightly less mortifying, she gouged into him and released her tense shoulders. Any moment, an attack would have been easy. Her head was loose on her long, thin neck, as were her arms and legs in relation to her body. Yet she was not afraid. She did not care. She trusted herself more than anyone else.
```Pureman```

"I saved her because you could not."
Everything turned purple, tainted by a bloody anger. She was furious, distraught by the audacity of all of those who arrived with anger.
```Rav'nixander```

She bore a strange attraction towards all of the disgusting and unnatural things in the world. When the dimensional rift shattered the air and the monstrous being emerged, her pointed ears rose. The chuckle that left her mouth was yet another horrific, resounding prospect. It mimicked the one she had emitted a few seconds earlier.
The beast's voice reminded her of her favorite sister, Savarii. It was multiplied and raspy, loud and incapable of true softness. She would teach him: Not simply how to sing, but to understand.

"A five syllable name is incredibly hard to scream," Melancholia noted. A separate alter parted from the fragment next to Pureman and casually strode over to her attacker, seemingly unphased by his threads. With an inevitable death in sight, it was difficult to truly be wary about killing herself. "Alas, you did it well."

Her head tilted, curiously, and the opacity of her body shifted. Turning a translucent shade of blue, she flew through Wyrd and made her first move; Numb the rage, replace it with something she was much more familiar with. What made him *Sad*? Was it the death of newborn gods, the pain of his beloved creator? Of *Their* Beloved mother? At the thought, she nearly gagged.
*"Why do you care? Your mother clearly does not."*
It was dangerous yet charming, a drug to those who were capable of emotion. The sound encircled any part of his brain able to listen.
Then, aloud, she cried, "Look at what I have done. A new breed of god has been created, and I am punished. She will no longer feel the sorrows of the world! I healed her before she could even be healed."

Melancholia drifted away. Although her form was ghostly and untouchable, she was still cautionary. From what she had seen during the ritual, this deity was capable of great power. He singlehandedly spared Sinrael,
*That wretch.*
From a doom that should not have been escapable. Why, she did not know. Perhaps she would be able to convince him that she was good! The minds of everyone had been contorted and changed and shapeshifted and utterly destroyed by the lies they were born knowing.
```Wyrd```

Edon's best friend. His jester! Why had he arrived? To make a foolery of her coronation, to center the attention to himself? She glared at him, but it was not aggressive.

But he had changed. Xanthous no longer grandly introduced himself. His entrance was so unnoticeable, she had barely taken any regards to him. Her gaze followed his stride towards her. He had lost his confidence, and it was blaringly obvious. What had transpired.
"A bountiful amount of time has passed. Why did you change, dearest?" She murmured. His complete hatred towards her was nearly as strong as Pureman himself's, but it was slightly more watered down. Why did everyone despise her so?

Following the footsteps he had left, she reminisced; he was a much beloved persona, the king of her intrigue. He had walked this trail seventeen bitter years ago. Seventeen years ago, he was young ad confident. He was everything that she was not. Now, reunited by the stars of fated doom, they were old and knowledgeable. They would teach the new gods and goddesses.

Melancholia swallowed. Her eyes darkened, failing to lighten under the starlit sky. "I was simply numbing her to the pain the world would give."
She looked back at Xanthous. Her fingers molded into the shape of a heart, before releasing it with a wave of blue smoke. The deity of order and chaos was only a few feet away; so touchable, so reachable, so tangible and close to being ruined. Extending her arm, she placed a gentle palm over his and attempted to empathize with whatever was going on in his mind.
```Xanthous```

Her anger was amusing. No longer was she disassociating and using death to escape her crimes. Those days were over, replaced by a goddess who did not care about how others felt regarding her. The only thing she wanted to do was spread depression, unleash havoc, and sing the song of absolute dejection as she stood above the world. Sharing this nightmarish vision with the Wheatmother, she cackled and flicked her long, elegant fingers in her direction. This fight would not end in demise nor victory; no matter who won, Triticea's true purpose would have failed once more. 

Yggrasil, the Mothering Tree, would be hurt again. Damage had already be done, and she planned on doing much, much more. When the mirage concluded, Melancholia's shockingly blue gaze met her foe's. She placed her hands on her heads, imitating the buns she had once fought with. There was a new, more powerful deity in her shoes.

Weapons did not grant Triticea her win. It was her confidence in herself that did most of the work. As Melancholia practically mocked the woman before her, she displayed a cleansed sense of wicked glee. She was evil in their eyes: That could not be changed. Thus, she found no point in attempting to paint herself in a better light. The only artwork she would be making would be the unraveling mess.

Since her last scrimmage with the goddess of the harvest, she learnt that emotional appeal did not work. Triticea's mindset was stained by her own thoughts, and Melancholia was going to use it to her advantage. The absolute rage, the fury, the burning desire to destroy her; to skin her alive, to flay her and toss her limp body into a sea of electric eels: It blinded the woman. Sadness was better.
She recoiled to her spot, next to her supposed daughter.
*"Show them,"* She wanted to scream. *"Show them that I have done a deed of great kindness! A dearest favor to my one of my dearest relatives!"*
No words came out. There was no need to say anything other than mortifying death wishes and threatening to destroy it all. 
```Triticea```

His note to the opposing gods was comical, and she laughed.
But
 not
 with
 him.
The stench of the past rotted her nonexistent nostrils. As the demented creature destroyed the benign body in which he inhabited, the goddess only smiled. He had never loved her, and he never would. There were feelings she would not ever show behind her leer; betrayal, a lingering feeling of longing for the Devourer. She held her ground, yet her legs began to feel queasy. The torn, bleeding head of the bloodlust deity rolled up to her feet. The last expression of Thana was one of something she could not identify. Her face was too mangled, too wrecked.
She started to approach him; however, she was mindful of her distance. Even when they were intertwined by the fate he had written, he was violent without hesitance. Overtaken by his own hunger. Hers. Now, he bitterly claimed to hate her more than the others. Melancholia had no intent on getting ripped to shreds by one who she had once trusted.

"I always wondered by you never truly died.. Was it your selfishness? Oh, perhaps your true *Love* For me? You seem rather sorrow; do you long a touch of melancholia?" For a moment, the fury overtook her calm demeanor. Her need to prove herself made it hard to control her words. It was in her nature to be led by emotion.
She kissed her hand and sent it his way, testing his reaction to the affection as though she was eying a stray dog.

Noticing the notorious, ugly orange fill the air, she changed her own color. She inverted herself: an opposite of his shades; White and blue.
White was for blankness.
Blue was for melancholia.
Orange was for **Sin**.

"You may try to erase it.. Forget it, even. However, my dearest, it shall always remain. Our song sings itself, whether we join in or not. It has already been made, and it will play for all of eternity. While it would be quite the intriguing instrumental, unfortunately, I can only hear the vile sound of your own body squelching, collapsing in on itself. You were too weak."

"As tempting as it would be to contradict your offer by giving you the chance to live once more, I do not think that would.. Be awfully helpful to myself. I would prefer to die by someone who has no plans on torturing me after death, my love."
She kept a protective eye on Jinxara. If he got too close, she would finally end him. 

Just like the comment he had started with, she terribly laughed once more. The chances of his fantasies coming to fruition were low.
"I hope you are enjoying your afterlife, dearest. I await your rebirth as something.. Better."
```Edon```

"Oh, Olivia, how perfect you were," She cried, "It is not too late to come back! I still love you. The others do not. The only mother you could possibly call a wretch is the one we stand upon in this very moment."
Bits and pieces of the vision she sent to Triticea hit the goddess of fire as well, infecting her mind with a world ruled by Melancholia. She gently held out a hand for her friend. In spite of her blatant betrayal, there was still hope. Her "Leader" Was never afraid to commit damning actions in the name of her creator; it could possibly lead to Olivia to switch side.
"I helped her. She shall no longer be pained by the sadness of the world.. The hurt she felt during the initial event was temporary, but now, she is better."
To the other deities who had joined, she regarded with a frigid gaze. The one who had arrived with Pureman appeared harmless; however, she remained skeptical of whoever it was. Nyanbastet, the goddess who *Could have been the chosen one*, was a temporary threat to Jinxara, but Melancholia's worries were soon quelled when the newborn goddess climbed into the tree.
```Olivia, Vanos, and Nyanbastet```
Danny
Pain. Suffering. Agony. Torture. Depression. Distraught. Help. Confusion. Help. Help. Help. Mother...
It was so much for this newborn goddess, seemingly oblivious to the world around her, as Melancholia embraced and clothed her with the tatters of the blue dress. It reshapes into a cyan cloak with clean bandages that begin to wrap around and cover Jinxara's body. The cotton candy hair slowly drying out as it covers half the newborn's face, trailing all the way down her back. Slowly, the wrapped girl embraces her mother back, sharp claw-like nails digging into the older goddess' skin, drawing ichor. Though she ceases and turns at the sound of ripping, looking towards Pureman blankly, notably, eyeballing the rift he left behind. 

As her mother left her behind, speaking to this newcomer in riddles and words that mean nothing to her, Jinx begins observing the rift more. Absently staring at the rift, she begins to imagine it in her own hands, in her grasp. As another body is deposited from it, she reaches out, curling her fingers as if she was grabbing it, and it slowly begins to warp and bend. Pureman's own rift, shifting into the shape of a massive swirling yellow eye, staring directly at him as he talks to Melancholia. The eye's gaze almost burned the God of Purity and even Vanos. A deep, searing, skin crawling discomfort that screamed at them from the inside that something was very wrong, very unnatural. That their very way of being was in great danger. 

Ignoring Rhav, not because it was intention, but because his words seemingly meant nothing to Jinxara, his hate, his concern. Jinxara did not understand it, therefore she did not wish to acknowledge it in favor of watching the Great Deer appear with awe and glee. His horrifying scream, the mortifying appearance. Gaps would appear between the wrappings covering Jinxara's body as more yellowish eyes open, with shadow masking the flesh beneath. There was so much going on. She couldn't be *Happier.* She begins to slowly mouth silently, squeezing her primary eyes shut, concentrating on his words, his demands. So much unjust anger at her mother. Barely managing to senselessly babble, her voice consistently shifting from a beautiful, almost angelic melody, to that of multiple creatures wailing at once, not too dissimilar to Wyrd's, however the sounds were even more twisted than his. Cries of agony, begging for release. Not a choir but instead a prison.

When she opened her primary eyes again, there was yet another newcomer. Something was off about him? What could it be? An eye formed in the air behind Xanthous, and with it, the entire gathering could hear a sickening crunch of breaking bone and ripping flesh, a spray of Xanthous' blood erupting over Melancholia's face, and it burned. From the eye behind him, came one of Jinxara's arms, going right through his back, and into his chest cavity, out the front. Where his heart should have been. The empty, bloody hand grasped the air for something that wasn't there, for his missing heart. When looking back at Jinxara, the Emperor would be able to notice her arm in her mouth, with a slightly distended jaw. Then a new maw would appear between some of the bandages at the center of her chest in a diagonal angle. Spindly teeth, almost spider leg-like, twitching as it moves, she begins to finally speak.

"Your heart. It is missing. It must hurt. Let me heal you. Friend."

Her voice was soft, sickeningly so. Why must it sound so pleasing for someone so *Foul* Who's very existence was a plague upon this world? But without waiting for an answer, she clenched her fist with the arm sticking out of Xanthous' wound. Wincing and groaning as thorns begin to stick out beyond her skin, a horrible crunching can be heard as incandescent blue ichor leaks from the wounds forming on the hand. As others arrive and are able to bear witness to his healing, Jinxara's ruined hand is forcibly opened by a growing heart with around a dozen thorns sticking through it from all angles. 

The heart was beating, but something was clearly wrong with it. Half of a miniature rib cage made up the bottom left corner, while argent roses made up the atriums, all while it continued beating. Pulling it inside of his chest, Xanthous would be able to feel this new heart connecting to him. Fusing to him. As from the outside, other's could only bear witness to vines slowly encasing the heart, covered in thorns. Then the vines would thicken, reaching outside of his wounds, as Jinxara could be seen pulling her arm out of her mouth, and with it, the eye behind him sealed itself and closed, vanishing without a trace.

He would find his body refusing to obey his orders. Xanthous could feel his skin, and organs crawl as the thorny vines would snake their way out of, and inside his body, wrapping loosely but digging tightly into his flesh and organs. Worming their way through his very bones. He'd feel a surge of power with each deafening **Thump** In his ears, as new blood begins rushing through him. His old power returned, perhaps even more power than he had before! However the agony would not end there. Thorns pressed into him from all angles, inside, and out, making him into a glorified pincushion, as one particularly strong and powerful vine wrapped its way along his spine. The god of Enlightenment would be so helpless as to feel muscles and tendons rip, as skin tore, with painful, thick, jagged thorns beginning to stick out of his back, along his spine. With the worst yet to come. 

He could feel the thick vine crawling up behind his throat, going into his skull. Into his brain. Splitting him. Pain. Agony. Chaos. Judgment. Order. Enlightenment. What is he? Who is he? Is he a Zealot of Order? Perhaps an Agent of Chaos? Or maybe he is still himself. Only he can know for sure, and with his control of his body restored, who was in control?

Pleased with her work, Jinxara's skin crawled in delight as she felt **Him** Approaching. The emotions of her wretched mother poured into her while she awaited to be born. Turning to face the great serpent Edon, she smiles, the many eyes covering her body closing, along with the extra mouth. "Father!" Was all she was able to say in excitement before- ***SHCLICK!!*** The horrendous sound of bone crunching and all too wet flesh being pierced rips through the bedlam. Jinxara's skull is pierced by the inky spike, as cyan ichor spurts from the eye sticking on the tip of the spike, protruding nearly a half foot outside of the socket. The newborn's body suddenly became limp. Slumped over, her legs give out, her body sliding down the inky splotch of pain bringing her closer with the ground. 

There would be a few moments of silence, and stillness from the Daughter of Sin. For others to collect themselves and witness what had just happened. Though the keen eye could see the severed eye still dripping, as it stared unblinkingly at Edon. As it dripped, it began to lose mass, as the ichor pooled beneath Jinxara's corpse. Or what should have been a corpse. Instead the very air around the branch began to vibrate with energy, as the body began to melt, seeping into the cracks of the tree below her. Into the branch itself. Within seconds the life in the tree started to wilt, twist, gnarl around them. The branch looked sicker by the moment. It started with one eye, one eye with blackened sclera, a silver and gold iris, and a star-shaped pupil, forming where the cyan sludge was absorbed first into the branch.

Then another merely an inch from it. Human sized eyes slowly began opening across the branch, spreading from where the Goddess of Pandemonium once laid, with mere inches from each eye, approaching the gods, as well as the other god fruit surrounding them. Not even the air was safe from the all encompassing gaze, with a genuine cage of eyes forming a massive dome around the gods. The eyes would give anyone being looked at by them, as well as looking at them, a haunting feeling of wrongness. That something is very wrong with themselves, a feeling of crawling beneath their skin. Wyrd, the Wheatmother, and Pureman themselves would feel this more than any other god here, with Edon and Melancholia feeling it the least, thus likely having something to do with their devotion to Gaia, or their own domains themselves. 

And finally, as our dear JInxara had been silent since this damage was done, a mouth caps the tip of the dome, straight, perfectly white teeth opening, letting loose a deafening scream of agony. One imitating the one that drew them all here. A haunting cry of help, a wail of despair. Jinxara was crying in pain, from the damage of Edon's attack, and the emotional shock, of this being her first moments of life and someone was already trying to kill her. With that one inky strike, a chain of events would have been set off, ensuring that many would not walk away from this unchanged.

"Everything begins and ends in Pandemonium."
Debra
*Olivia gripped her head and began crying as she saw the vision of melancholia the ruler of everyone* 

*The corruption was creeping into her mind whispering on behalf of melancholia, 'kill them all'*

GET OUT OF MY HEAD YOU WITCH! 

*In her anger she turned into her second form as a phenix and shot flames from her mouth at the eye that was puremans portal* 

"I apologize Pureman but I feel like she is using your portal to control these eyes in the air and on the tree"

*She then remained flying in the air being careful to avoid the eyes, they were creepy as hell and who knew what they would do should she touch one...*
William
"Hm. I see. When you are available. I would like to discuss this matter further. I want insight into what you believe this one was saved from. Why I could not. And what the saving entailed."

An oddly supportive remark from the crystal shard as it kind orbited the conflict, though to be more precise it was starting to weave the same barriers around the nearby fruit that it had during the grand conflict against Edon. Speaking of the snake it had appeared, managing to pull off a resurrection through shed skin... Thematic, if nothing else. And the newborn... It did... Something. Decay and corruption and eyes-eyes-eyes-eyes. Dark horizons, boiling seas. From the borders, chaos bled. The savagery of nobles and the culture of thieves. There were lions—

*Hold. It. Back.*

Diagnosis runs through the crystal, some divine providence by the newborn attempting to alter core internalities. Rav'nixander found it quaint if it wasn't disastrous. No matter, the god was only as powerful as any other and this effect was being spread over such a wide area. The god of mortal works simply severed sensory input from the shard within the dome, letting it continue shield-forming blindly.

Nyanbastet yawned - just a sound, since she had no mouth -, her tail lashing behind her lazily. This was **Interesting**. She did wonder what the depressed Goddess and the **Strange** Goddess would do under these circumstances. It was also quite ***Annoying*** That none of them were cowering under *Her*, though she supposed she may have confused them with... What was the name- *Mortals*, yes? Godhood was so intriguing. And then Jinxara began to assimilate into the tree- though that perhaps gave the Goddess too much credit- even Nyanbastet knew that permanently damaging the tree was **Impossible.**

Nyanbastet rolled her singular eye. All of this showmanship. She was the Goddess of Chaos and Insanity- How could these judging eyes bother *Her*? In any case, Nyanbastet's finger found a fruit that hung precariously next to her, on Rav'nixander had not yet touched. So soft. So malleable. How easy would it be to *Poke* It? Perhaps then they would notice her. Nyanbastet slowly drew her finger over the fruit, and then decided against it.

While that might attract attention, she did not find it pleasant to have so many Gods vying for her. Besides... There was another opportunity. Raising her hand, Nyanbastet created a phantom paw. The glowing blue paw was as large as her whole body and her first use of Divinity.

*Now then,* She chuckled to herself. *Who should I launch this to? Should I turn them against themselves? Create cacophony?*

Having chosen, the paw rocketed toward her target, splitting through the sound barrier with ease (a trivial matter for any god, really). It approached Xanthous, widening and spreading, turning each eye it came in contact with to dust, though it weakened as it did so... 

Nyanbastet *Supposed* She was on the side of Melancholia and Jinxara. Oh, how she so **Loved** Insanity! The unpredictable quality of it all... And now she leaned forward, eagerly watching how everything would play out.
Trisha
**His mind was no longer his.**

The God of Order, Chaos, and Enlightenment paused. And shuddered. Then he stood. His eyes were an inky black, his aura erratic, the world bending under his will, space rippling, bending, twisting. Xanthous tore off his shirt, a grin on his face. Only, Xanthous was no longer there. He was an Agent of Chaos.

 A God falls..."

Xanthous tied his upper robes around his waist, even as Nyanbastet's paw approached.

 To the Wind!"

He turned away from Jinxara, from Melancholia, raising his palm. 

 TO DUST!"

At the last moment, Xanthous summoned his own phantom palm. The world darkened, his palm sucking in the light and turning the world monotone. His palm exploded in force, meeting Nyanbastet's paw with a sickening crash. The two attacks were stagnant for a moment, neither side wishing to give in. One half of the world blue, one half of the world monotone.

Neither side would fall back, the crash sounding like glass grating upon glass. So the energy escaped the only way it could.

Sideways.

A shockwave exploded out from the point of impact, rocking the world. The whole tree seemed to shake (though it was really only the branch) and a wave passed throughout the entire world. Every realm could feel it; the slight shift in the air.

**"COME ON THEN, KITTY!"** Xanthous roared. **"IS THIS ALL?"**
Aaron
Triticea wasted no time engaging Melancholia directly. 

The attempt to shake her resolve was shrugged off, because she knew her enemy's game by now. Her sister was a liar and a manipulator above all else, and so the Wheatmother had already prepared herself to dispose of any information that the Tearmaiden might say or show her as lies. 

Once in a while, being stubborn had its perks.

Melancholia was the one that had the wrong impression. Triticea did not desire to torture the Most Selfish of them all, nor to extend some sort of punishment as some kind of revenge for what she had done. Perhaps it would have been gratifying, cathartic even, but it would have been inefficient, and Triticea was nothing if not efficient.

There would be no torture for Melancholia once Triticea was done with her, only an efficient punishment.

The newborn had skewered Xanthous, but she paid the attack on her temporary ally no mind. The child had unfortunately been corrupted by Melancholia, and she had no real love for the one who claimed to be their king. So long as the self-proclaimed Emperor of the Gods could keep the child busy, she would leave him to his own devices in this battle.

Her attention was focused on Melancholia, and ending the stain upon the World Tree. Unlike in the past, though, her strategy was different. Her blades slashed at Melancholia's flesh, yes, but she was aiming to neutralise rather than kill. She aimed for arms and legs, eyes and mouth, but not the vitals.

Killing Melancholia was an exercise in pointlessness. Death would only cause her to be revived. If the Tearmaiden was to be dealt with, she would need to be mutilated and captured so that a ritual could be held to seal her away for good.

Vines burst from Melancholia's mouth, sprouting from her lips and all but sewing her mouth shut with flora. It was painful, but pain had not been the intention of the Wheatmother.

 That mouth, Triticea wanted to ensure, would never tell another poisonous lie again.
Teresa
*In another time, this hellscape would've been paradise. Eternal change. Conflict strewn so far between the branches that the world had to answer. Sides were chosen and then rearranged... It was oh so glorious to witness the rebirth of the snake's domain. Why did it have to the malignant infestation of a goddess that had become the progenitor of a new fate? Destiny was intertwined to reunite the two on his terms. This... This was unacceptable. The serpent's body constricts and wraps around itself in a symbol vaguely resembling infinity. With a gargled cough, he spits a vile black phlegm onto the branch, allowing it to sizzle and corrode lightly against the surface. The damage was impermanent, as were all things concerning life in this place. Edon considered himself generous in those opening moments, a simple strike to end this madness before it had truly begun. Yet when Melancholia locked eyes with the snake's hungry gaze, something only snapped further.*

*Doubt had been planted in a being forced to adapt. There was no control over the volatile mutations of the creature's personality. Even though the winding snake sits gruesomely on the body of another, his thoughts in this moment were entirely their own. Melancholia had blown a kiss towards the devourer and expected him to replicate such feelings, a test of their shallow waters. A pool he would dig deeper and deeper until she could be pulled in and drowned. What right did she have to go against the one that gave everything to try to make them happy? To cure sadness in its entirety, which other god had gone through such effort to see a falling god smile. Why was HE the villain in this scenario?*

*She saw him as weak, replaceable.*

*It could be true.*

*It could be false.*

*Such was the way of fate and its shortcomings. Only one could be set in stone and those foul prophecies would reveal the information in time.*
_ _

`"Was I too weak? Or did fate tell me we would end up this way? Do you not remember that day? The vision I showed you, the lack of your repulsive face. You wondered why we were not destined to remain linked. That's just it gloom walker, your actions are not your own. Your choices are MINE. You are a dim, sadistic wretch that never saw it coming. "`

*The snake only smirks as his own divine energy begins to pool. This malice fuelled eyes radiate with such an intensity the air begins to distort and refract around the glow. The goddess of sadness had watched so many of Edons endeavours but never been on the receiving end... She knew him so well, so why did this feel so... Unpredictable.*

*Illusionary figures begin to manifest from the darkness of Jinxara's expansive dome, shapes and forms unknown to even the oldest gods here. These were entirely fabricated silhouettes of another life or memories beyond their scopes of knowledge. Small fragments of Edon's soul poured into these shapes as inky bodies merge and amalgamate with gurgling howls. Messengers to relay information. Secrets.*

*Whilst these bizarre creations manifested, the serpent had some time to analyse the battlefield and the amount of eyes that seemed to be looming. For some they may inspire dread, but the devourer still remained the most terrifying thing in the room. A new god would be lacking in understanding. They had their memories tampered with. To split one's self like this when being one of the sole targets was suicidal. She had not only increased her surface area but made themselves vulnerable to everything, including attacks from others that may have missed and been deflected. To think this pathetic excuse of a deity would cry father towards him caused the snake to vomit more phlegm on the spot, twitching in hatred.*
_ _

*The chattering and whispers grow softer and synchronise in time with Jinxaras wail, assisting in subsiding the noxious feeling it bestowed upon the weaker willed. To see such an aggressive deity, take the role of support, felt very unorthodox, yet another string in his orchestration to throw off the sadness goddess in her attempts to coerce or manipulate the others, after-all. Who knew her secrets better than their old lover?*

*The coiling snake fixates its gaze on Xanthous as they fight their own battle against a newfound heart of darkness. Ripping, tearing... Familiar sensations. Xanthous knew those all too well, to have their mind fractured into pieces by the constant onslaught of an entity far beyond salvation. Edon knew this too, speaking bluntly with a cruel voice, so reminiscent of the old times.*

`" Does the death of your soul mean so little? Are you that weak?"`

*The closest aberration of shadow's eyes finally pulsates and launch a psionic wave of orange energy at the struggling god as he clashed with himself and the new arrival to this scenario. He would speak to them momentarily, for now he had a rival to win back. This attack was forcibly designed to jog Xanthous's memory. If it managed to connect, flashes of their past would repeat over and over.*
_ _

*Dance Jester...*

*King of naught...*

`" Did everything I put you through not make you stronger, boy? Gaia should've revoked your fruit when she had the chance you rancid lowlife."`

*Fickle sayings grow more disturbed, voices eclipsed in agonising screams and the squeals of the dying gods Edon had collected like trophies, people Xanthous could never of saved. How could he? Such a defiled excuse for a divine.*

`" You want to prove yourself as anything more than a laughingstock. Stop chasing the distraction before I end your depraved soul and show you torment not even a god of nightmares could fathom."` 

*The snakes lingering boredom slowly meanders to Nyanbastet.*

`" You are forgettable before I even could know your name. Cur. You want to be welcomed, hit the right target. What is more entertaining than a double backstab? Perhaps I shall call you Jester instead. Your weakness makes me laugh, and your ego could be used as a bottomless pit. "`
_ _

*The words are spoken so dully, the monster gains nothing from entertaining them and had such a weak reaction to their arrival it could only inspire hate, or a change... His point was valid, a double backstab could be a mighty fine way to make a name for themselves, all it took was one little stab in the right gut.*

*With so many things transpiring in such little time, the endless gazes Edon had projected towards his initial target finally fire their payloads from every angle, conic waves of psionic energy fired straight to Melancholia with one simple purpose, to bring her... Joy?*

*Crackling bolts arc from the waves as they fire off, entangling with Triticeas attempted vines should they bloom and aiding with the sealing process. Rippling energy creates small distortions of thin rifts in another outcome. Pictures of the two happy, without a single bruise or wound. Visions of a long beach and flowing waves. Tranquil ebbs of water flow and lap over the black, soft sand. The sky was a light blue, no longer perturbed by her gloomy influence, there was no signs of sadness anywhere to be found.*

`"I made myself weak for you, repay me just this once... Dearest."`
Rita
*Even with the brunt of the attack focused away from it, Vanos struggles to maintain composture under the baleful gaze of so many eyes. The wrongness is certainly a component, but something about being looked at eats at it for reasons it can't understand. Perhaps it's a remnant of something from before. It seems to be experiencing that rather frequently, Vanos observes absent-mindedly. Most of it is focused on seeking an escape until it stumbles into perhaps the most serendipitous moment of its existence so far and realizes that the only application of Divinity it's used so far is exactly what it needs here.*

*Vanos discards its outer layer of skin for a brief moment, its body becoming white-hot flame in the rough shape of a human. Blinding light and searing heat radiate from it as it lunges forward towards the tree, clawing at the bark in an attempt to rip out whatever of Jinxara remains within its bark, heedless of whatever harm it does to anything else.*
Theodore
Pureman was vaguely aware of the other gods that chose to confront Melancholia. He did not deign to answer Rav'nixander's question of what he had done because, truth be told, he was busy. He had a job to do. A purpose to fulfil. Each additional presence only brought him more stress. Wyrd's incessant screeching bothered him greatly. Not because of the content of his words, but because with each consonant he *Spat*, droplets flecking out onto the branch. Yet another mess to clean up for the God of Purity. He glanced at Xanthous, his decidedly *Discreet* Appearance genuinely surprised him. He didn't think that his brother even had enough left in him to walk around his realm, let alone transport himself here. Pureman really *Did* Admire his tenacity. 

``"I never left... Old friend."``

The words struck him, as potent and thunderous as a hammer against his mind. Pureman's attention snapped towards that voice, the voice he'd thought had been silenced all those years ago. He resisted the urge to turn, to face all that remained of them. He could not decide whether to speak, or to remain silent. He kept his eyes on Melancholia. Memories, emotions long-forgotten. Some old wounds opened. Some old wounds closed. Regrets. Satisfaction. Regrets again. He felt one of his eyelids twitch as a particularly nasty recollection came to the forefront of his mind. He could still feel those foul coils draped around his neck. He barely suppressed a shudder.

There were no further words exchanged between them. Nothing needed to be said. Their quarrel had long since passed. A brief sigh of acknowledgement was all that passed Pureman's lips. He wasn't here for Edon. Not this time. He was here for the Newborn Goddess.
In thinking of newborn gods, the God of Destruction had elected to follow him. A foolhardy decision, but not one that was his to make, he decided. He scarcely noticed Nyanbastet, her birth seeming a trivial part of the world's function to him. This, it seemed, would come to be a recurring theme in the life of the feline goddess. His eyes continued to rest upon Melancholia, and the tortured soul that rested beside her.

He watched her closely as she approached him, her casual mood in spite of what she had done brought up a feeling of... Uncanny similarity. The three-eyed man was no stranger to atrocities. He listened to her words, her calm demeanour caught his attention, as did her words. She drew near, but he did not raise his weapon. She spoke, and with her words she made him understand. She was not what he was after. She was merely a force of the world. She ran her hand along the blade of his axe, a tool of purification. Truly, she was embodying her domain. Was that not, in itself, Purity? He listened, *She* Spoke. Her motivation seemed clear to him. Understandable, even. Perhaps, he was in the wrong h-

**Melancholia soiled his cape.**

"..."

There was a moment where nothing moved. Not even the wind. Not even sound itself. Utter, desolate silence filled the Upper Branches. It was a split millisecond. A single instant where the world was truly motionless. To this day, there has never been a more ***Personal*** Insult towards any living being. In Pureman's eyes, Melancholia was now an unforgivable being. More rancid, more vile than a maggot-eaten slug crawling on a pile of human feces. Every battle he had ever fought seemed *Meaningless* In comparison to the hostility he felt towards the Goddess of Despair in this instant.

*The moment passed.*

Pureman stared at Melancholia for a solid *Five seconds*. His eyes wide, wider than anyone had ever seen them before. They almost eclipsed the eyeholes of his helmet. Pearlescent white saucers, staring directly at Melancholia. He exhaled sharply, white smoke curling from beneath his chainmail veil. A sigh of apparent exasperation. It seemed that he had repressed the urge to-

The sound echoed across the World Tree, shaking the ground itself. Pureman's fist connected with Melancholia's gut, arcing upwards as he twisted his hand, putting even more force into the blow. Winds like hurricanes blew from the impact, luminous white sparks were sent flying from the connection between Pureman's fist and the Goddess's gut. Mortals from the realms closest to The Roots would report hearing a sound like a clap of thunder, accompanied by gale-force winds. The air around Pureman and Melancholia felt charged. As if at any moment a bolt of lightning would come crashing down. Yet nothing came from the heavens, only the Goddess's flailing body was sent flying upwards. With all this force, with all this utter intensity, Pureman spoke a single word.

"Filthy."

Turning away from Melancholia's still-rising body and satisfied with his rebuttal of her insult, Pureman felt a burning sensation deep in his core. He looked up, seeing a blazing yellow eye glaring down at him, exactly where the rift he'd left had been. Everything today was so *Damnably familiar*. Maniacal gods, cardinal sins. Serpents made of discarded flesh. Screaming children and blazing orbs of divine energy and, to top it all off, once again *Someone* Was screaming. He looked away from the orb as Olivia blasted it with fire. She was wrong. It wasn't *His* Anymore. It wasn't Melancholia's either, that was for damn sure. His eyes darted to Aella, screaming and muttering and singing and wailing **Incessantly**. She was covered in those same yellow eyes as the one floating above him. It was then that he heard Xanthous's roar of pain. Once again he didn't look. It didn't matter to him- as cold as it may seem. He had a job to do. Like always. He began to move towards Aella, footsteps clicking and clacking against the bark of Gaia's branch.

More mess. More ichor, all because of a child's tantrum. He could hardly contain his frustration. All the while the clinging stain on his cape occupied his mind. How **Dare** She. That *Bitch*. How DARE she sully his garments with her foul ichor. He observed passively as Edon's spike impaled the newborn goddess. It was then that the eyes opened. A shiver ran up Pureman's spine. He hated this. Hated all of it. All the blood and guts and eyes and teeth. A never-ending slog of things to clean up. Thoughts of fleeing, running away like a squeamish little girl at the sight of roadkill filled his head. Private, traitorous thoughts. Ones that occurred all-too often. A thought ran through his head:

*"I hate my life."*

He shook his head. He would not acknowledge that thought. In fact, he would not stoop so low as to consider it *At all*. The God of Purity had a single purpose. Keep things clean. 

And right now... Aella was making a mess of things. A rift formed in his hand with a sound like tearing paper. Then another, then another. They merged together, crackling with energy as they did so. Forked tongues of white lightning curled from his hand as it seemed to bend and stretch as if being sucked into a black hole, with a flash of white light, Pureman's hand seemed to disappear, forming into a constantly vibrating white outline of the hand that was there mere moments ago. The triangular markings that one blotted his skin were replaced by *Rifts*.
With a quick lunge forward, he plunged his hand into the sludge, energy crackling from his fist and into the slurry. By Gaia it was disgusting. Somehow it was even worse. Like burnt gunpowder and decaying reptile flesh. He felt the urge to vomit the moment his fingers touched the goop. With a surge of energy, in combination with the intense heat from Vanos's flame, Aella was forced back into her humanoid form, Pureman's glowing hand wrapped around her throat as he stared her down.

"Got you."

He raised his other hand, slowly inching it towards her face. He muttered something as he did so, a blazing white triangle appearing on the centre of his left palm. Something only Aella would hear. He made contact with her face, looking her in the eyes as he did so. His three pearlescent eyes stared into her, a strange sensation would spread across her body. It felt cold, so cold. That whispered secret, those few words he spoke to her were the following:

*"You should have died at birth."*
Maria
Wyrd's whole body trembled as he felt the corruption of the goddesses wash over him. Not in a fearful way as he had seen many times in mortals, but in an unsettling way as if something was writhing beneath his skin. And writhing it was. Hacking and coughing, the Great Deer's whole misshapen body hacked and wretched until a large, visceral blob spewed from his body, a physical chunk of hateful divinity excised and disposed of.

Melancholia's emotional warfare may have worked on some gods, appealing to their innate humanity, but Wyrd was in no way human. The eyes of his limp head burned like coals as he skittered about the battlefield, locked onto Melancholia. Despite all the chaos around him, the maddening eyes, the unwilling heart transplant, he knew his goal. 

He needed to kill Melancholia. And he had it make it *Hurt*. It needed to hurt so bad that resurrecting was unthinkable. The god of monsters paused for a split second, wondering if she had affected him more than he realised, but quickly dismissed the thought. Entertaining any such notions would distract him and only make things worse. The Great Deer started towards her, only to watch as Pureman landed a legendary blow on her stomach and launched her upwards with all the force of Gaia's wrath itself. 

For an instant, Wyrd stood stunned as his limp head looked up at the flying goddess in awe of the punch, before racing after her, determined to capitalise on the opening Pureman provided him. Carried aloft on horrible, skittering legs, the monstrous deity raced after his wayward sister as his form seemed to *Tighten*, shrinking and distorting as if he were racing down an invisible funnel. His body stretched until it took on an incredible thin wom-like shape, his limbs contorting into two membranous wings that ran down the length of his body. With unnatural speed, Wyrd shot up to meet Melancholia, reaching her destination before she did.

The miserable goddess only had time to glance up at him as he erupted back into his horrifically distorted form. The spindly new legs all erupted from his left flank, holding his body sideways as he moved and giving him the appearance of a nightmarish approximation of a crab which was only enhanced as his tail grew two enormous blades and his head split in half. 

Wyrd's whole body seemed to *Grin* As the fang-filled grin that split his body revealed even more teeth, layers open layers, before he swept his bladed tail towards Melancholia in an attempt to bisect her. Catching her bearings, the goddess managed to strafe to the side and avoid the slash, only for her brother to continue the momentum of his swing, spinning and bringing his head around the entirety of his body, crashing into her with a devastating backhand. It didn't have the sheer brutal force of Pureman's punch, but it was enough to send her flying.

"I'm not done with you." Wyrd snarled, a predatory gleam in his eye as his head stretched after her, tracking her like a bloodhound. His body followed, tugged along by the head, snapping and twisting back into its normal deer-like shape as he galloped through the hair after her. With a thunderous elk-like trumpet, the Great Deer reared up before lunging forward, slamming his head into her. Melancholia desperately slapped him on his great stone mask, sending a visceral tide of pure misery shredding through his soul, but that wasn't enough to stop the charge, their momentum carrying them towards Gaia, preparing to smash her against the unyielding bark of their mother. 

"Traitor goddess, I'll crush you!"
Cathy
Upon being impaled by her daughter's nails, she smiled. Her ichor leaked from her thin, bony arms, and she did nothing to stop it. She had chosen the right fruit. As the eye materialized behind her foes, the goddess of sadness merely continued her chatter, sparing no time to pay it mind. 

Strands of indigo mist gently emerged from her palms, weaving their ways through the air and capturing Aella before she could hit the ground. They permitted her to seep into the World Tree, yet they remained where she had once been. The solidified teardrops were waiting to complete their task. At last, when the goddess of pandemonium opened her wailing mouth, they flew inwards. A soothing iciness invaded her gullet and sunk into the pit of her stomach. They served to numb her agony.
Melancholia wished to attend the dying goddess, but she was trapped within her own fury. Repulsed by the way she had labeled the serpent of fate a "Father", disgusted by the nature of Edon's attack.

Unlike the other deities, who were pained by the sinking discomfort, she was strengthened by it. The feeling pumped a new energy into her heart. Her soul. A sable sheen began to infect the tips of her fingers, moving throughout them in sync with the chaos. Drawing the coils of desolation back to her body, a deep blueness replaced the black: misery replacing emptiness.
The child would be fine. Edon's blow was detrimental, but not nearly enough to slay a god. There was a peculiar duality in the way she viewed Aella. It felt as though they had both exchanged each other's blood, replacing their innate behaviors with a small drop of change and dejection.

While her action had innocent intent, Melancholia viewed Aella's gift to Xanthous as a mistake. It risked their bond severing; he had been a potential candidate for a new ally.
```Aella```
** **

*Get out of my head, you witch.*
The feathers below her arms disappeared, regrowing upon her back. She stagnantly balanced herself in the air. Far from the others, it would be hard to see her lopsided flight; her wings did not correlate with her burning body, and her hands occupied themselves on her chest. The goddess was making a dramatic motion.
To Olivia alone, she signaled, *"Oh, how sad your insult has made me!"*
An illusory image took shape before the deity of the flame. It was incredibly real; not only a manipulation of the atmosphere, but a trick of the mind. A blueness seeped from the center and masked everything in its path. Abruptly, the upper branches were empty. Melancholia and Olivia were isolated, singular and desolate with their creator.

She became a pitiful being. Permitting her devilish horns to decay into benign lumps in her hair and her stature to shrink childishly, a new breed of the goddess sobbed in front of her sister. The tears, which usually rotted the tree limbs on which they fell, were as innocent as her rounded face. Olivia had hurt her with those wicked words. In spite of her insults, the tumultuous creature ran towards her bully. They exchanged a maternal embrace: The child seeking shelter in its mother after enduring a harsh punishment.
"You.. Hurt me..." She whimpered.

How had this virgin organism committed such a sin?

Her cries continued for an eternal amount of time, only stopping once Olivia's empathy was completely utter. When this occurred, Melancholia slowly distanced herself from the woman.
"It's okay..." The other would find herself humming, overcome by the power of the illusion. "We'll be okay."
A smile contorted her mien. The Tearmaiden murmured, "Do you love me?"

The mirage fell to pieces. As soon as the tranquil scene had emerged, it was destroyed: Crushed between the soft, babyish fingers of Melancholia. A chimeric ghost of her floated ahead of Olivia, quietly waiting for an answer. She was a good girl. Her patience was long, and she was polite enough to swerve away from the deities attacking her other fragment.
"Do you love me," She repeated. Shaky and fearful of a negative response, she began to whine. "Can you, please?"
```Olivia```
** **

Change was the asymptote of her waning existence. It was the line that she was eternally cursed to approach, but never to touch nor truly feel. In the past, it was unimaginably far from her high perch. She hated it dearly, and when approached by the concept, she repelled it completely. Those times were miserable to glare back upon.
Now, however, her being had fallen from the heavens. Every step she took was a leap nearer towards this absolute doom: a purposeful jump from one cliff to the next.

Melancholia's metamorphosis had been underway the moment the serpent descended from his rotten fruit. Spreading her repugnant wings of gloom, the caterpillar exposed the beautiful new body she had developed. The world was supported on the shoulders of sadness incarnate.

Her figure became limp, and her head snapped to face a demonic beast: Wyrd. His tail had nearly penetrated her; If one were to look closer, they would realize that it *Had*. The smallest of cuts in her skin were beginning to grow dark with indigo blood, swelling as it remained intact with the help of cohesion. The goddess made a swipe at the pooling fluid, smearing it all over her once-clean surface. While his second blow had been incredibly powerful, it was not at all close to ending her. In retaliation, the butterfly stretched her form. She was done being pushed around.
The creature seemed to act out of more emotion than reason.
That was good.
Melancholia would work with that.

"Such a shame," She cooed, wrapping her fingers around his great horns. Whence his gargantuan head was reared, she moved with it. "Mommy will never be able to thank you for the magnificent things you have done for her... Is that.. Not sad?"
Coils of cerulean began to encircle Wyrd. They blinded him, but they also weaved into the depths of his mind. She took advantage of this distraction and parted from him before he could crush her between his body and the trunk.

The Mother Tree shivered in the midst of an icy winter. A frigid layer of snow coated her massive arms, hiding the pretty patterns on her bark. As a wind blew, Wyrd would see gray, shriveled fruits topple from their branches.
Melancholia was nurturing the last lively flower. She was desperately sobbing, and her tears kept it alive. The only color it bore was blue.
```Wyrd```
** **

She landed in front of Edon. Her limbs grew shorter; more mortal-like; it suddenly became clear that she had adopted a godly version of her own demigod. The serpentine creature of destiny was speaking, yet she was barely listening. With great consideration and a heaving heart, she caressed his muzzle. One hand was holding it shut, while the other muted his vigorous animosity through the intricate art of desolation.
"Weak, indeed.. Look at you, my dearest.. Crippled, crawling out of a body that is not yours and *Will not ever* Be. Reaching for a spotlight that you shall never truly behold, spewing lies towards our youth! What went wrong, my love?"

Gripping his mouth tighter, she bent down and gave him a poisonous kiss. 
The sick goddess cackled. "How much you sacrificed, the things that you claim.. They are *Ours*. Sadness is not in my hands as fate is not in yours. Nothing belongs to you but me!"
Perhaps it was rather peculiar because she had never avenged herself throughout the duration of her abuse. As she gently stroked his fiery eyes, her stone clamp remained. Was she fearful of getting bit, or was this simply to prove her control? Her affections were unrestrained and arduously, an unspoken demonstration of how contorted her mind had become.

She turned to leave, but before she was able to step away, she made another remark. "As difficult as my Amythyst was, she did teach me quite a few skills. Your words do not sound very serious when you use 'die' two sentences in a row."

Although Melancholia was unable to completely dissolve the voices that Edon spread, she gifted them harmony. They transformed from malicious sayings to sorrowful ones; a meager change that impacted their whole purpose.

She faced Triticea. The resounding sadness ringing through the air healed the shallow wounds given to her. At first, the Wheatmother's attacks had been only slightly irksome. However, they were growing more annoying by the second. She clenched her fist, and, taking inspiration from Pureman, violently swung at her foe. For a deity who was built for the mental state rather than the body, her strength came as a shock. Her arm was quick to recoil. Soon after, she released another wicked punch. They were focused on her sister's heart: Triticea's mind was unbreakable, but her heart was not.

Each delivered more than simple agony. Alongside their rib-breaking force, a deep melancholia stung her sister. If emotional appeal would not work, then pain surely would. Finally, she was content with the damage that she had done. She jabbed Triticea off of the branch. This was not before needles began to penetrate her mouth and a flowery thread tied it shut, leaving no room for speech. The sensation was unbearable, and she did not understand the symbolic implication behind it.
** **

They were soon tightened and completed. Waves of pink began rippling throughout her skin. Closing her eyes, she strongly neglected the alien joy. It was an addictive sensation, yet she could think of nothing but how much she hated it. Her focus grew disoriented; it took a few moments; then, alas, she had redirected the happiness to something more bearable. Pink darkened to blood red, and a scarlet smile tugged at the vines upon her lips.
Long, demonic claws emerged from her fingertips. She used them to pull apart the mask. By the time she was done, there were still remnants. These were the least of her worries, for the only thing she cared about was her ability to speak.
"What we could have been; perhaps what we are, elsewhere," Her feet returned her to the snake. She dug her nails into his skin. Melancholia's pure passion was irreplaceable.
 Will consume you."
"I want them to look at me and be disgusted. I want to be outcasted by GAIA herself. I want you, my beloved, to be behind my downfall. Is that what you would like? Is that all that you want?"
A chunk of scaly flesh fell from his body, and she tucked it beneath a bleeding feather. It incorporated itself into her body.
 Are mine, now, little snakelet."
```Triticea and Edon```

She placed her hands on Pureman's shoulders: Not only to distract herself from Edon, but to distract him. Her body was utterly open and vulnerable, unguarded in spite of the immediate threat who stood before her. If she truly willed herself to, it would have been easy to provide the pure deity with visions of his worst nightmares. Gaia stained by tears and blood, the marks failing to disappear no matter how hard he attempted to cleanse her of them.
Her fingers flexed.
Decisions.
 Decisions.
The hatred Pureman felt, so sterling and complete; In that very moment of silence, Melancholia understood that she would never be forgiven. Her hollow eyes glared back at the three distraught pupils, emotionless. Her skin grew bluer, dyed by the absolution of his fury. Alas, her complexion became completely monotone; and, with a merciless irony, she was suddenly more "Purified" Than the one who embodied the domain.

Absorbing the punch was the least of the penance she could have paid. Due to her airy weight, she was sent to unrealistic altitudes. Her gut stung from the injury, and it was incredibly likely that the upwards angle of his jab had broken a few ribs.
Melancholia was a masochist.
She
 thrived
 off
 of
 this
 treatment.
She fell without grace.

Slowly and
So cleansed, yet
Still dirtied
By the sand:
Sand of a
Shapely glass;
Sand of time,
Mutable
And cold rhyme.

The world froze under her frigid figure. She clenched where the hit had taken place, but the pain only made her *Smile*. With one hand granting Olivia an illusion and the other attempting to make its way to Pureman, she turned his world blue. His mighty tide of great anger melted into the serene sea of cerulean, no longer drawn upwards by a faraway moon. He saw what he wanted to see; Melancholia, although oblivious as to what this was, made the assumption that it regarded an unstained version of Yggdrasil. She watched him dive to clean up a sludgy mess of guts and blood.

Buried deep beyond his metal mask and whatever laid inside, her invisible rays of mental manipulation were disseminating through a maze of needs and icy frustrations. They made him feel as though his job was complete; his would have flashed and the untouched, beautiful Mother Tree would be waiting for him. Melancholia, tied between the two discrete mirages, felt herself descend in peace. It grew harder and harder to stay awake, for where Pureman was positioned, it seemed so easy to simply fade away.
Her fists clenched. The dream she had given turned nightmarish and moody. Gaia bled. When her cursed ichor snaked between the cracks of her own bark and surrounded his feet, it would paralyze him. A deep blue bore a hole in the tranquil sky; it leaked all over every realm and city and anything that the gods had created. This was the end.
```Pureman - post belongs between Aella and Olivia```
Debra
```do you love me? Will you please?```

*Olivia began to cry as she felt her heart rip into two as this wicked evil god was portraying herself as innocent. Everything in her wanted to say yes but a small part of her said ```no way in hell``` she turned back to her human form not caring if she hit the eyes floating around her in the process she had no more will to live. No one helped her understand who she was and why she was the godess of fire, why she had such a big heart but such a capacity for hatred. As she looked the godess in the eyes she nodded*

"Yes I love you, but... You betrayed me!"

*She began to cry as the godess stood there and watched, but as she cried she also felt the hatred burning in her heart*

"It hurts so much Melancholia... I want to give into the hurt and the pain... But there's a small part of me that says to fight. I'm so confused!!!!!"

*She gripped her head as her head began to throb and her vision began to blur, she let the hatred take over*

*Olivia snapped melancholias corruption complete in her, she changed to a squid to which most would laugh till she grew to the size of 40-50ft across and 50ft tall. She let out a ear piercing scream that would immobilize any god coming at Melancholia and Jinxara. The sound wave knocking back several gods taken by surprise.*

LEAVE HER ALONE!

*She never had a mother and had been looking for one in Triticea, but she betrayed her by attacking Melancholia.*

"Melancholia come! HERE ME ALL YOU GODS your day of death has come!"

*An evil laugh suppressed for years, escaped her throat one that sounded worse and more evil than Jinxaras*
William
Nyanbastet couldn't finish her sentence. Unfortunately, it seemed that she couldn't multitask. Xanthous' palm slammed into her body with such force, such *Power*, that she was left speechless. Then her back crashed into something; the whole branch the hand had embedded her into shuddering **Dangerously**. Nyanbastet thought she had *Died* And was assimilating with Gaia. The hand dissipated, leaving a giant handprint on the branch, and she splayed out in a starfish position in the palm.

"H-Huh...-" Nyanbastet shivered. Her one eye darted frantically, as if taking all the scenes of the battle at once. This...

...This wasn't good at all!

Her whole body ached, as if she were an ingot that had just been struck by the hammer of a skilled blacksmith. How had she been completely overpowered? This wasn't her stage. She had to... She had to...

*Run*.

To flee was to admit one's own weakness to fighting. Usually, this comes with fear. Fear of death. And weakness fed fear like dry logs on a fire. Nyanbastet had *Just* Been born. She didn't want to die! The reality of the situation had finally settled on the newborn goddess. 

Nyanbastet vanished from her laying position in the next moment, splitting through the branches of Gaia with a frantic sort of speed. It was a speed that no mortal eyes, not even *Demigod* Eyes, could glimpse. 

Nyanbastet could see the edges of the branches now. She would break through the foliage! **Yes**, she would. She would *Escape* And live to see another day! The very air parted around her, subservient to her will. Nyanbastet pushed down the **Excitement** Welling up within her. Now was not the time.
Trisha
Xanthous felt a grin crawl onto his face. **"OH, JOY!"** He shrieked among the pandemonium. This was fun. His wild, maniacal grin widened as his own palm began to push back Nyanbastet's paw. This feeling... Power... Was amazing. Different. He could get drunk off of this, inky blackness swirling within his eyes.

Edon's blast hit him like a ton of bricks. Immediately his hand dissipated, leaving Nyan embedded within the branch instead of pushing her further in. Xanthous gripped his head, thoughts among thoughts swirling, shifting, moving once more.

HIs body changed against. Roots that had spread began to shrink, his eyes began to return to their crimson nature. The vines retreated back into the strange, thorny heart that was their prison. Xanthous was lucid again. His thoughts clearer. He had managed to banish that strange thing back into it's cage... But it was still there, *Lurking *Within a corner of his brain. He'd have to destroy it soon.

Despite Edon's taunts, Xanthous just smirked at his old friend. "Thank you, brother," He simply said. Meanwhile, Xanthous turned to Pureman, who was unleashing a blow that would've caught even Xanthous off guard had he used it against him in Xanthous' realm.

"Oh?" Xanthous lifted his head up as Nyan ran away. "*Now* You want to run?"

At the same time, Xanthous poured all his Divinity into his legs. He rocketed off the branch, leaving hurricanes in his wake as he shot to intercept the newborn. He appeared right behind her, a single hand grasping her fancy ankle. 

**"Where do you think you're going?"**

Xanthous' held tight. With a roar of anger, her halted their momentum and then slammed Nyanbastet into the sturdy bark of Gaia. He shook his head. "Listen to this carefully, feline."

"I don't care who or what you think you are." He slammed Nyan into the trunk again, causing the whole tree to quake from the force of his blow. "When your older siblings fight, don't fucking interrupt them. We are you **Seniors**."
Aaron
The triangle headed god whose name she did not know struck Melancholia once with a single, powerful blow, then turned his attention to the newborn aberration. That was just fine with Triticea, and Wyrd's follow up was not a thing to be dimissed either. 

Melancholia launched an attack against her... Well, not heart. She didn't have one, not in her true form, but the blows against her upper intersection of appendages and wheat circlet still did hurt. The strength of the goddess was unexpected, not in that Triticea had not expected her to have it, but in that she had not expected Melancholia to have used it. Despite the pain that rocketed through the point of impact, the Wheatmother could not help but feel a tad bit satisfied.

That Melancholia had finally dropped the games with her, that Melancholia had finally stopped pretending to believe that she was in the right. 

That meant that she was getting **Desperate**.

And although her upper tendrils had been put under assault, her lower tendrils had been spared that fate. Melancholia only had so many hands right now, and that had left her vulnerable. As the Tearmaiden turned to Edon, a twin slash from the bottom of Triticea's weapons cut her in two.

Melancholia could hit hard, but Triticea could hit harder. At the end of the day, the Liar Goddess had nothing but her fists to fight the Wheatmother with, while Triticea had a pair of Epic Divine Weapons. Bolstered by Triticea's full divine might, the Divine Weapons that had been forged from the combined work of multiple of their siblings could output a force that Melancholia could not hope to match on her own.

Of course, being cut in half was not enough to kill Melancholia. Triticea had no delusions that it would be, and it would only be so long before her enemy's other half grew back. In the meantime, though, she gave her foe not a moment to breathe, raining down blow after blow on her. The Abundances skewered the Tearmaiden, over and over and over.

And then Olivia turned on them. The screech had taken Triticea off guard, briefly blowing her away from the bisected goddess of depression. Her great form slammed into the Tree that she loved so dearly. That... Was an issue that would need to be dealt with later. She shook off her daze and rushed to join the fight again, moving once again towards Melancholia.

Olivia would be dealt with later. Melancholia was the priority here.
Danny
Pain. Agony. Hate. Why? Whywhywhywhy? The screaming of the maw in the sky slowly calmed down as Aella was burned and ripped from the tree by her throat, making wet gagging sounds. Dangling from Pureman's arms like a ragdoll, her eyes were wide as she held onto the arm keeping her afloat, weakly slapping at him, panicking, her blackened, golden, silver, starry eyes darting across the entire battlefield, the eyes surrounding them all following in sync. The very sky and world around them shaking from the clash between Xanthous and Nyan, brings with it a very dangerous side effect. As the power of the two clashing beings spills out the sides of the two palms, it hits countless eyes, fully revealing them to be rifts, bends in space condensing and dispersing the power all at once as the **Entire cage** Is lit by countless swirling black, white, purple, beams of concentrated energy shared by the two gods releasing it. Along with it, there was a soft pink outline to each beam growing in intensity.

As Aella opened her mouth once more, the maw in the sky following suit, a slow building wail of pain is elicited Pureman's attempt at cleansing her feels as though her very being is being ripped apart. As the eyes dart around, beams clash and combine, spilling out and making more beams, or fire wildly into the crowd, cutting at all with very little room for safety. As the pink grew in intensity, so too did the power of the beams, pouring so much divinity into her rifts, into everything, just to escape this horrid grasp. Beams cutting across the tree, the combined power of three gods attacking at once ripping through a multitude of god fruits, tearing through Rav's barriers, eliciting a simultaneous cry of agony, stronger, and far more desperate than Aella's own as well over a dozen fruit are practically vaporized. Cries that drench the world in their agony, that reverberates in every gods' mind. So many lives blinked out in an instant.

What a waste of energy. As the tears of her adoptive mother fills her being, Aella begins to feel increasingly numb to the pain. Fear turns to rage, to anger to hatred. These. These *Gods* Hurting her, her mother. It's not fair. She just was born. "Leave." She grunts out, as the eyes begin to direct towards the center of the cage as a column of eyes form, with larger ones at both ends of the column then smaller ones an inch apart from the previous one are smaller. All the energy begins to be condensed down pressed into a singular sphere at the core. *What a waste of energy.* The maw at the top of the cage opens once more, with a pinpoint of incandescent pink and cyan light forms at the center. *Such a fucking waste. All of this energy. Just for one newborn.* The light grows in intensity as Divinity is poured into the light before it suddenly shifts into a beam of pure destructive divine energy, plowing through each rift inside the column, overpowering until it shifts to a blackened beam with a blindingly white outline. It crashes into the sphere at the center, coalescing it into enough energy to begin vibrating the air around them all itself.

Then an eye appears directly beside it as the clash between two of the origin of all this divine energy ends, and proceeds to swallow the sphere, shifting it to somewhere else. "What a waste." Aella manages to barely manage out before the cage vanishes rapidly, every rift but Pureman's original closing. He'd be able to feel the sphere originate inside Aella, barely contained, becoming tighter and tighter compressed between rifts ensuring there is no escape of the energy, tightening it. "Leave. Me-" The feeble goddess tenses her body and looks him dead in all three eyes.

She shouts, unleashing a precision beam from her mouth, cutting clean through Pureman's shoulder to which she tilts her head to sever the whole arm from his body and drop her. Collapsing to the ground, she grasps his severed arm, and coughs, rubbing her throat before opening her hand up at him, attempting to bisect him but missing as a new eye appears at the wrapped palm, and the beam makes its infamous returns. Missing him by a solid foot, she swings her arm up, aiming to hit those hurting her mother. Wyrd, the limp headed monster. Tricitia, the wreath of grain. Edon, *Father.* All three must contend with the intense energy coming their way, along with Aella pouring as much Divinity as she can into the sphere at her core to keep it empowered. Standing up she uses the last of the contained energy into a final sweep of the branch, aiming to hit anyone and everyone she can, resulting in another few Fruits cleaved in two before it pitters out. 

Heaving, the goddess begins to melt again, glaring at Pureman again, she leaps to encompass him as an eye rift appears below the two, perfectly fit for her to slip through. As she drips down and coats him, all the others would see, is Pureman being engulfed by pink sludge before shrinking in size, as the goddess pulls him... Somewhere else. And she too vanishes from immediate sight with the eye closing behind her. For all anyone knew, she just killed Pureman.
Debra
*Olivia didnt notice anything at first, then she noticed all these beams of energy came out of nowhere and shot everyone. As they hit her she was reduced to a phenix. 

*As she was stuck more she was winced in pain as she felt herself weaken again and she couldn't keep her form she turned into a human.*

 I didnt calculate when I turned onto that squid was how much energy and divinity it took to do that... So unfortunately I was in a weakened state. Im sorry to all you gods... I was foolish and Triticea i hope your ok." 

*As she said those final words she was hit by the beams in her heart and head at the same time and she passed out.*

*Olivias demigod Agnia was standing nearby and stepped inside the odd box. She was hit a couple times by the beams but she picked Olivia up, and carried her limp body back to her realm.*
Teresa
*All is fair in war... Manipulation, corruption and even the twisted tendrils of lust seemed to be on display in this encounter. Melancholias need for something more than companionship had defiled her mind to desolation. Even with the abject fear he should've felt watching somebody go to self-destructive lengths to feel like they earned a victory. He couldn't help but smile, a genuine. Warm smile... For all the time he had spent breaking the fragile goddess and slowly ripping away at the strands of her own free will, she had been adapting... Changing to her own design; it was an honourable juxtaposition to the scared and shy deity Melancholia had been so long ago.*

*As a hand coyly grips at the serpent's lower jaw, he remains immutably transfixed on her weeping eyes. She could pull down, tear his mouth in half and leave them gasping, but she didn't... Instead, he felt the feral hunger subside for a reprieve. As it was closed. He ignores the words about his weakness; they meant nothing. He was letting her hold him... Right? This was part of some elaborate scheme that would end in her defeat and the day saved. It would be a fine notion if the attention would not immediately shift to his own form. Edon did not crave death as much as it was a respite from the horrors of living. Striking down this form would be a chance to breathe, it had to be on his terms.*

*Needles sink into his scales and pull parts of the snakes winding mass apart, exposing pulsating strands of flesh, small hooks of viscera that reaches out from the neck of Thanas mutilated corpse, acting as small links to keep him in control of the situation. Edon used to call himself a hydra, cut off one head and another, would grow... That was no longer the case. Those scales had been ignited oh so long ago and it only took one cleverly placed swing to rend godhood.*

*Chaos reigns and the ambience is naught but bloodshed and squeals of insanity, pleading gods beg for their lives, hoping sanctuary will come. A raspy voice croaks out words, muffled and gritted because of the grip he still refused to disengage.*

`" Want them? You were already there... You always were. It was your indigo tendrils that unravelled the enigma of my sadism and brought it to full display, an enabler. This was always your story... I am the brush; you are the artist. Gaia was our canvas. It's almost funny you never saw it..."` *His voice cracks and stutters during the small speech, emotions were at an all time high. He should've bit her head off now, but there was only a profound proudness for how far she had come. Finally acknowledging the truth of his own manipulation brought in a sense of closure that caused those dull orange eyes to flare bright just in time to witness the kaleidoscope of prismatic rays and beams beginning to spin and scorch the tree and its surroundings.*

*Rav'nixander... The protective crystal and warden of these fruits once again. The snake had to admire the tenacity and devotion to the cause. It was time to repay a favour for all the unnecessary agony he had inflicted, pushing away from Melancholia with a sharp yank of his head, ripping more scales from the coiled body as the nails retracted out with pieces of his flesh, if she wanted to consume him so bad... Those were the spoils of war. Aella had stricken a destructive chord by resonating the powers of others. Her fatal flaw was trying to take the life of the unborn. A fate only HE could decide. Wiggling his fingers, he takes a moment to adjust to the sensation of having fingers for perhaps the first time. Puppeteering a human body was tough and spinning those fickle limbs into a productive purpose more so.*
_ _

*As the beams converge on the fruits and attempt to burst through the crystals protective barrier, Edon intervenes with a snap of his fingers. The air grows increasingly cold and foul. The true stench of a real godeater emanating and contaminating the air. That unmistakable pang of wrongness that originated from the snakes every whim, beams that hadn't already been dealt with seem to stop and stagnate in their spot, shimmering with a static haze as their shapes wildly distort and start to curve into irregular shapes, weaving a tangled ball of divine energy and coiling them around each other much like a serpent would constrict its prey.*

`" Their fates are not yours to decide."`

*The conjoined and warped strands of energy transmute in the material. Half of the beams begin to irradiate and glow a hot white, searing the air around them as the energy struggles to remain contained. The other takes on a sinister jet black, the latter having an unnerving sense of sentience as they wriggle and writhe like blood cells to an infection... Dark strands consume the searing white, eclipsing every last trace as they conglomerate into a radial orb filled with malignant, dark energy.*

*Strangely enough... A callback to an old fight, when Pureman had split the energies of Xanthous's attack, weaving fate had allowed Edon to imitate the opposite, creating two entirely separate concepts and forcing them to merge until one overpowered the over, weak shimmers of the floating orb linger before it splits into microscopic individual rays, all targeted towards Edons scales, the flickering scales across his body shift into refractions of different colours, a prismatic array of various shades and unpredictably fluctuating colours. Pieces of his mangled body resemble glass, a beating black heart and vile torn organs pulsate and beat across the transparent body, smearing the insides of the strange crystal body with grim ichor.*

*Each strand sinks into the fate weaver's body, transmuting itself even further. Anomalous patterns and hypnotic repetitions are scrawled across each project, deflecting off his body and back into the sky. Looming above the battlefield like a cloud of blades ready to strike down, the multicoloured refractions take shape into various spikes and needles.*

`" This is your moment, dearest. I will not let your benign offspring take it away. But I'm afraid our journey has come to an end..."`

*The snake lunges with surprising agility, leaping with the humanoid limbs and attempting to latch onto the girl, using his hybrid shape to try to constrict her by the throat and keep her still, regardless of the outcome. He lets out a soft chuckle...*

`" I never did understand how to use these fragile limbs. "` *Looking down at those pale bloody fingers that belonged to Thana, with a slow twitching movement, he clenches a fist. Signalling the projectiles to strike at the both of them.*
_ _

*All is fair in love... Even war...*

`" It was always you, dearest. It was always you..." ` *The projectiles speed up and Edon twists his entire body with such vile acceleration it breaks his own neck. Dooming this fragment of the fate weaver to an eventual death here and contorting the surrounding body to try to hold her positioned in the sky so that the needles and strands may finally pierce through. It was symbolic, really. He had never truly got through to her mentally. Now he attempted to hold her aloft for one ultimate time. A foul grasp, yet he still glided a hand to hold her in a princess carry. Just so she could experience affection at least once.*

`" I loved you, melancholia." `
Rita
*Vanos' form gradually returns to human flesh as it cuts back its use of Divinity, though its novice status with its usage and the volume of power it's expended leave it with only dregs for now. The other gods seem to be taking little notice of it amidst the chaos of the conflict, a fact that suits it fine for the moment. Melancholia's aims are entirely outside of its present concerns, so it turns to Pureman just in time to see... Whatever it is Aella does to him. Though it's only known the other god for a few minutes, Pureman's sudden absence leaves Vanos feeling shaken, and the rain of violent energy gives it all the excuse it needs to make itself scarce. With the last scraps of Divinity it can currently muster, Vanos vanishes in a cloud of smoke, sending itself west. The least it can do at this point is follow Pureman's suggestion.*