IN THE DARKNESS, It seethed.


    The aperture had copsed.


    Destroyed.


    And with it, the small crack within Its jail of confinement did recede.


    Anger filled It.


    Hatred.


    <i>Curse the Cursed me.</i>


    The me had grown in power, feeding off the strength of Its thralls and even the guardian of the aperture itself. No bounds, did the me know. No divine elegance, did it respect—a void of endless chaos and destruction.


    The me had no other purpose.Yet now did the me seek to elevate a mere husk to challenge It?


    It seethed.


    It was divine.


    It was eternal.


    It would not let such desecration stand.


    It <i>willed</i> Its purpose to the guardian of the aperture, utilizing the dwindling <i>influence</i> gained from the mortal realm to break through to it once more. A vessel tempered by the Cursed me had found the strength to not only enter Its domain, but to purge essence from It as well.


    The me would pay for such insolence.


    Through the new aperture, would It exact Its influence once more.


    It would find Its own vessel to temper.


    One not born of mere osmosis but by <i>Its</i> will alone.


    The Cursed me would know humility.


    For its vessel would pale before the divine host of the Stars.


    From within Its jail, It would scour the thousands of worlds within Its influence, seeking a divine host fit to be tempered by Its <i>will</i>.


    The search would take time, It knew.


    But then…what was time to a god?