In the woods of the Mortuary, the ACA scramble to find a way out. Mr. Kleen is stood, listening to his mop intently.
Beside him, unseen to all, is Gemini…
…whispering to the Mop of Justice.
“In the recesses of the world’s blackest abysses, a legend stirs, whispered by those under my sway. Have you felt the tremors of the impending swarm? A legion that rises, not from flourishing gardens, but from the rotting wastelands, born of decay and corruption.”
She looks over the ACA with a raises eyebrow.
“Such are your censors. Feeble insects, thinking they can overshadow the dominion of Nergal. They believe they are the swarm, but in their myopia, they fail to realize that they are but maggots writhing on the feast I have prepared. They aim to cleanse, to purify, to strip away the layers of rot and degeneration. Yet, what are they, if not a mere manifestation of the same decay they detest?”
She dances around the Woods, focused on the mop.
“Once, in the aeons before this world took form, I reveled in the birth of pestilence, the genesis of corruption, where every whisper was a curse and every shadow concealed a malevolence.”
She looks at the ACA with disgust.
“Your censors, with their feeble attempts to silence, are but a mere annoyance, trying to contain a force they can’t fathom. While they delude themselves as guardians, warding off the world’s perceived corruptions, they merely dance to my tune. Their swarm over the vibrant terrains of thought and imagination only lays the groundwork for the blight to take root. For in their shadows of conformity and suppression, the spores of my influence spread, unchecked and unbridled.”
Gemini cackles, letting insects swarm her as her invisible form stands before Sebastian Boswick.
“You might champion a world of purity and order, but you unknowingly sow the seeds of your own annihilation. To sterilize one facet of existence is to invite a far more potent strain of corruption. And you, in your hubris, have summoned me, Nergal, the sovereign of rot and ruin.”
She glances at the rest of the ACA, then back to Boswick.
“With every tale they silence, every voice they stifle, they beckon the rise of a far more ancient and malevolent chorus. For every inch they claim, they relinquish a mile to my domain. Their attempts to cleanse and purify only intensify the stench of decay that heralds my reign.”
Going back to the mop, she whispers to it, hoping that the message is passed on.
“So, please, dictate the narrative, but remember: The night answers to me. Every shadow you cast, every silence you enforce, is a call to the creatures of my abyss, a summons to the true swarm.”
She begins to fade back into the darkness.
“And when the dusk of your ineffectual reign descends, remember this: In the great theater of existence, it’s not the silenced that rise, nor the suppressed that retaliate. It’s the very embodiment of decay that will ascend.”
A smile.
“For in your bid to control the narrative, you’ve merely written the prologue of my resurgence.”