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Why did I publish a Christmas tale in April? Because FUCK YOU, that's why.
Oh and Happy Birthday, Blanche.
“Tom, dear, how is the invitation coming along?” Asked Blanche.
“‘s nearly done, Blanche. Just doing some last-minute touches,” replied Tom, as he sat at a computer. He dragged a few assets around the screen, before finally leaning back and admiring his handiwork. “…Aaaaaaand done! What do you think?”
Blanche peered down at the computer screen to view the invite; it was quite cute. Stock clipart of snowmen, Christmas trees and presents were all over the very nicely decorated invite. “Wonderful, Tom. Thank you for making this.”
“My plea- woah! Is that a Christmas outfit?” Tom asked, surprised.
Blanche wore an ugly Christmas sweater with the Cygnus Archive logo embroidered over it, with a red velvet dress visible from the waist down. She giggled as she lifted the dress an inch above the ground and did a little twirl. “Do you like it, dear? I’ve spent all week decorating the Archive, and I assumed my regular attire would feel a bit out of place with all of these decorations.”
“I think it looks lovely on you, sister…” Philia chimed in, while hanging up a mistletoe in one of the doorways.
“You really went all out, wow.” Tom remarked.
“Well, I’m expecting hundreds of guests. Of course I went all out! What kind of party hostess would I be if I didn’t take the time to decorate?” Blanche chuckled.
Tom took one final look around the Archive to admire all of the Christmas decorations. Furniture was adorned with holly, fake snow made of cotton, and Christmas lights. Some of the lightbulbs in the chandeliers were replaced with Christmas LEDs, and large speakers were almost everywhere around the place. In the center of the main hall was a tree from the Crimson Forest, adorned with colorful ornaments and a star at the top.
“Oh, Tom…do you really believe this will work?” Blanche asked, a faint doubt seeming to linger in her mind.
Tom nodded with enthusiasm. “I’m sure of it. You and Philia’ve come up with a foolproof plan. If this doesn’t work, nothing will. But either way, this party is gonna be a total rager!”
“Whatever you say, dear. Just don’t get too rowdy. Now then, we should probably get to printing out these invites, shouldn’t we?”
“Right on.” Tom proceeded to print out the invites that he made before throwing them into his backpack, zipping it up and swinging it back behind himself.
Meanwhile, Blanche passed a different set of invites to the Mail Carrier. “These ones are only to be delivered at my command,” she instructed, to which the Mail Carrier silently nodded.
“Well then, I’d best get going. I have a lot of people to see in a short amount of time. See you tonight, m’lady!” Tom called.
“Be safe, please!” Replied Blanche.
“No promises!”
With that, both Tom and the Mail Carrier set out to deliver the invitations. Blanche and Philia silently glanced at each other for a moment, as if to reassure each other that this plan would work.
The Keymaster stalked the tunnels of The Hub, patrolling it just as he did on most other days. But this day was different; for to a certain few, there was none other like it in the year. The Keymaster had heard murmuring amongst some of The Hub's human inhabitants that tonight was Christmas Eve — or so everybody had agreed, since it had been 364 days in counting since the last time they had agreed it was Christmas day.
But The Keymaster, being something other than human, did not quite care for Christmas. He never quite concerned himself with what matters humans would conduct, so long as it did not interfere with his own activities (which, more often than not, consisted of aimlessly traversing his tower and deeply contemplating nothing in particular).
The Keymaster was gradually pulled from his thoughts as the distinct sound of footfalls echoed through the tunnels of The Hub in rapid succession and rising volume – which could only indicate someone running towards him. He then looked down to see a familiar human standing before him. “-Oh, Tom. What brings you here?” He asked, faintly surprised by this encounter.
Tom, doubled over with his hands on his knees, spent a moment catching his breath while panting raggedly. It seemed as if he had run all the way here. Eventually, he finally rose up and cleared his throat before speaking. “Uh, hey, Keymaster- err…Gatekeeper? Clavis? Sorry, I don’t really know what you prefer to be called these days,” he stammered between pants, sounding somewhat flustered and still slightly breathless.
“I do not care.” The Keymaster deadpanned, crossing his arms. “Now, what do you want?”
“Heh, it’s like nothing’s changed with you,” Tom chuckled, pulling a sealed baby-blue envelope from his backpack. “I came to deliver this from Blanche.” He handed the envelope to The Keymaster, then began turning to leave, before stopping short and looking back at The Keymaster once more. “-Oh, one more thing; could I have a key to Level 389?
The Keymaster tilted his head and arched an eyebrow in silent confusion (and perhaps judgement) at this request, but he obliged nonetheless – materializing the key and flicking it to Tom, who caught it with one hand. “Thanks, this’ll save a lot of time. Got a lot more of these to deliver still.” With that, Tom proceeded to run towards the door to Level 389. “Hope to see you later tonight!” His fading voice echoed through the tunnels of The Hub, before The Keymaster was once again alone.
Upon retiring to his living quarters in the tower, The Keymaster finally examined the envelope more closely, finding it to be sealed with an emblem of the Cygnus Archive. He opened the envelope to find an invitation:
The Keymaster briefly stared at the invitation, before suddenly feeling the presence of Solaris from behind him.
“What is that, my love?” She inquired, peering over The Keymaster’s shoulder and pointing at the card that he held.
The Keymaster sighed and shrugged. “An invitation from sister Blanche, to one of her annual ‘Christmas’ parties…” He almost discarded the note in dismissal, but Solaris stopped him before he could, catching his arm.
“Hey, you know what? Maybe we should attend…” She suggested.
The Keymaster appeared to be visibly conflicted about the idea. “I…am not so sure. I haven’t the best relations with the others. I doubt that many are attending anyways, for similar reasons.”
Solaris tilted her head. “You know, you can't hold onto this animosity forever, even if we are immortal. Everyone will have to make amends eventually, somehow.”
The Keymaster sighed. “I understand that you mean well, darling, but it is much easier for you to have such an optimistic outlook when you are not despised by the others as I am. You have barely even interacted with them since the fall.”
“Maybe so, but that doesn’t invalidate my points…” Solaris turned towards their two daughters, Ceres and Nebula. “What do you say, girls? Wanna go to aunt Blanche’s Christmas party?”
Nebula nodded enthusiastically, a grin plastered across her face. “Oh, I would love to! It would be so exciting to finally meet the rest of our family!”
Ceres, meanwhile, scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah, so nice to finally meet the family we’ve been kept hidden from all this time…” She sneered sarcastically, to which Solaris frowned slightly.
“Listen, now, I have already told you many times that it was-”
“-‘for our protection’, yeah, I get it…” Ceres replied dismissively, without so much as making eye contact with her mother.
The three of them then looked towards The Keymaster, as if awaiting his final verdict. But before he could say anything, they were interrupted by the sudden arrival of the Mail Carrier’s looming figure, who slowly extended forth a sealed envelope. The Keymaster looked up at the being with slight disdain. “You intrude upon my domain unannounced, and without so much as paying the courtesy of properly greeting me?” He was only met with silence in reply, as the Mail Carrier simply continued to silently stand as still as a statue, with the envelope extended forth. An awkward, uncomfortable silence fell upon the room, and so The Keymaster cleared his throat and finally took the envelope, upon which the Mail Carrier immediately departed and proceeded on its way without a word. “I-…well, never mind…” The Keymaster scoffed with a sigh, sitting down to examine the contents of this new envelope. Like the previous one, it appeared to have also been sent by Blanche, but upon opening it, The Keymaster found that it contained something far different from an invite. There was instead a handwritten letter from Blanche, seeming urgent in tone:
Keymaster; please come to the Archive at once. There is an emergency which requires your immediate attention.
— Blanche
The Keymaster, unable to afford ignoring such a message, swiped his finger along Blanche’s signature and teleported to Level 906, with Solaris and their daughters in tow.
Within the Cygnus Archive, a dark black mist began to rise from the floorboards, gathering together and thickening. It condensed into a large cloud in the middle of the room, becoming more solid and “human”-shaped. The very next moment, the form of The Keymaster blinked into existence, alongside Solaris and their daughters. He stumbled and fell forward but caught himself at the last moment, rising back onto his feet in a gravity-defying manner. As The Keymaster looked about Level 906 upon his arrival, he was met with a truly shocking sight.
The Cygnus Archive was adorned with vibrant Christmas decorations, host to an incredibly lively party with numerous beings present. Maria was staring at the presents under the tree with her goggles, which were promptly removed by The Alchemist so as to not ruin any surprises. Paris, The Gearmaker and Lorenzo Windsor were chatting beside a table with a bowl of eggnog. One of them went to refill their cup from the bowl, only to be shocked to find Kirai lurking within it. Berry scurried about the library as he chased around some Light Guides. The Squires had teleported into the level with their amulet, crashing right onto a roast turkey. In another corner of the room, The Dark Sovereign quietly languished against the wall, with holly entangled around his horns. Christmas music faintly droned on in the background.
As for Blanche, she was perfectly safe and sound, sitting at a tea table beside Philia as they drank gingerbread tea together. She looked towards The Keymaster, sensing his presence upon arrival. “Ah, Clavis, I’m so glad you could make it. Merry Christmas!”
“Blanche? But…I was under the impression that something was wrong…” The Keymaster stammered.
“Oh, I’m so sorry to have worried you, dear. I assure you that wasn’t my intent. Perhaps I should have worded my letter differently…” Blanche mused.
The Keymaster was about to reply, before he heard the childlike giggling of a girl echoing nearby. Suddenly, a spotlight turned on to illuminate The Game Master standing atop a table as disembodied jazz music resounded and confetti sprayed in fanfare. “WASSUP FUCKHEAD, READY TO GET WASTED ON SOME EGGNOG?!”
The Keymaster jolted in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“Eyyyyy kay mester! It’s-a-me! Woulda greeted you sooner, but I was busy decorating the tree!” She pointed to a nearby Christmas tree adorned with ornaments, which suddenly twisted around to reveal Protastheia with an annoyed expression. “Anyways, want some eggs? I got plenty!” The Game Master produced several eggs from her sleeves, most of which unceremoniously fell to the ground with a splat.
The Keymaster raised an eyebrow. “Whatever do you need eggs for?”
“Why, for the eggnog, ya silly fuckin goose!” The rest of the eggs plummeted to the floor as the Game Master then pulled out a mug of “spiked eggnog”, which appeared to be nothing more than half-beaten egg yolk with dirty nails and screws floating about.
“No, thank you,” The Keymaster declined, raising his hands.
“Bah, suit yourself. Y’know what, just for you, I got somethin SPECIAL on the menu that I don’t make for anybody. Any. Fuckign. Body.” The Game Master flipped over the “spiked nog” to reveal it to be a cup of steaming hot bovril. “It’s a cow juice beef thingy! No spikes!!”
The Keymaster studied it closely. Although he was somewhat apprehensive… he did like bovril. “Alright,” he relented, taking the cup and sipping from it. Scrumptious. He then turned back to Blanche and Philia. “How is she here? I thought that she was confined to her own realm.”
“I may have appealed to Dandy to make a special exception for tonight…” Philia vaguely replied with a faint smirk.
As if on cue, a being composed of fleshy red tendrils in the vague shape of a jester stumbled into the room. “Yeeeeah, that’s trueeee…” The Comedy Creator slurred, guzzling down one of the many grapefruit wine bottles which they held with just as many tendrils, while leaning on the table for support and balance.
The Puzzle Maker and The Game Player were also present, lingering shyly in a nearby corner.
Suddenly, a psychedelic kaleidoscope of pastel-hued light emanated from above as a glowing mass materialized in the room. The fetal figure of a four-eyed, four-armed marble goddess emerged, surrounded by flickering artifacts and polygons which gradually faded from sight. She silently hovered in the air for a moment, before slowly uncurling herself and descending to the ground as she opened her eyes.
“Chiasmus? You’re here too?” Somehow, The Keymaster was even more surprised to see her than The Game Master.
Chiasmus slowly nodded, looking around and observing the other guests. “Though if I cross paths with Dyadlord, Sword Saint Unworthy, I will make him wish that he was never spat out the womb of his twain-souled father and put his Greyenbones to better use.”
Yet the surprises were far from finished. From a painting of Level 57 mounted on the wall, The Muralist and The painter emerged, each clutching painting supplies in their hands. “We're simply here to paint scenes of the party…” She faintly murmured.
“-CAW!” The croak of a crow cut through the air, as an entire murder scattered away to reveal a cluster of glowing orange eyes, which then dissipated to reveal the looming hooded form of Argos. Standing behind him was one of his sons, Humility – peaking out shyly.
The glowing white symbol of a cross within a circle suddenly appeared, before a sword pierced through the fabric of reality, tearing open a rift from which The Red Knight emerged with weight. Even standing still, his armor creaked with rust and old blood, iron biting into whatever flesh-ribbons writhed beneath. Shani arrived alongside him, bright-eyed and upright, naboot slung over her shoulder.
A large clot of a black ink-like substance suddenly materialized and grew larger, before Kushim emerged from it, quiet as grave-soil.
The disturbing shrieks of scorching souls could suddenly be heard as they forcibly gashed a fleshy, shrieking rift in the fabric of reality with Bittersteel, heralding the arrival of Y’liad Elyion alongside Olivia Bellerose. “Greetings, Lady Blanche, Clavis…and whomever else lurks in this realm.” he said with a cordial bow. Chiasmus, meanwhile, silently glared.
The Keymaster looked down at his own shadow cast upon the bookshelves, noticing that it seemed to be changing. Its shape gradually transitioned from his own silhouette to a hunched hooded figure, before it stopped following his movement completely. The Keymaster, too, stopped in his tracks, and gazed upon the warped shadow in confusion. He waved his arms and tilted his head, yet the shadow remained still. Suddenly, it burst forth into the third dimension, taking on a solid physical form. The bottom of the figure’s cloak flowed like black flames, grazing scorch marks along the floor as he began to slowly approach the others. Two purple lights shone from the being’s eye sockets beneath his hood, partially illuminating the charred skeletal visage of Icarus Procidens.
"No way, Sans Undertale!" The Game Master blurted out.
It had been centuries – eons, even – since all of these beings had last occupied the same space and time. The sheer power in the air was palpable – as was the tension. Many unspoken, unresolved disputes and rivalries still lingered, and the memories of them were stirred to the surface like freshly reopened wounds.
Blanche, however, did not seem to acknowledge this tension; whether by ignorance or by choice. A smile slowly spread across her face as she clasped her hands together. “Ah, it seems that most everyone has finally arrived! At this rate, perhaps we’ll all be sitting around a rounded table once again…” she remarked lightheartedly. Blanche smoothed out her dress, taking a seat at a large rounded table not unlike the one she had just alluded to. She stared at her guests for a moment in a silent invitation to sit down at the table as well, which some accepted but not everyone. “Now that we’re all here, I’d firstly like to take this chance to apologize to all of you for the sudden summoning, as well as for my rather… scattered behavior as of late. A good host should be quite attentive to their guests, after all.”
“Was the urgent letter that you sent me how you convinced the others to attend, as well?” The Keymaster asked.
“Not all of them…but most, yes. I'm aware this was a rather drastic measure, but it was the only guaranteed way that I knew you would all arrive.”
“It seems that you have really pulled out all the stops to ensure our attendance…but why, if this matter is not truly an emergency?” Chiasmus asked.
“I did not necessarily lie – I do consider this to be an urgent matter.”
“Making us all attend your little Christmas party is an emergency to you?” Icarus sneered with contempt.
“W-well, there are still some that could not make it. Like Asteri-”
“Do not speak his name.” The Keymaster suddenly interjected, silencing her. “And that still does not answer the question.”
“The party is not the true point of this…” Philia sighed. “You see, Blanche and I have been recently discussing our concerns over the estrangement of this family. In times like this, we cannot afford to-”
“Please…the last thing I think we all need to hear is another of these speeches.” Kushim replied.
“I would even go as far as to wager that the only reason nobody is at each other’s throats yet is simply because this is your own domain.” Y’liad added, shooting a subtle glare at Kushim.
“In fact, you have already pulled a similar stunt when you tried gathering us all to solve The Keymaster’s recent problem.” Argos added.
“That was different. I was simply doing a favor for him,” replied Blanche. “And besides, you did fight alongside each other against those Penumbras in the end.”
“It was a rare occasion, an exception…” Grunted the Red Knight.
“Was it also rare when you fought the memory wyrm alongside Argos?” Philia asked in reply, to which both Argos and The Red Knight fell into begrudged silence.
“The truth is,” Blanche continued, “most of us have already recently reunited, albeit individually. I see no reason that we cannot all be together at once, especially for an occasion such as this.”
Icarus scoffed dryly, whilst shaking his skull in disapproval.
“What is it?” Asked Blanche.
“This entire premise is rather absurd. You wanted to gather us all for ‘Christmas’, a festivity fabricated by mortals? And for what virtues does it stand? ‘Peace on Earth, and good will towards men’; this is not Earth, there is no peace nor good will of any sort to be had between us, and we are not men – we are Gods.”
Philia frowned. “Have you stopped to consider that perhaps this mindset is one of the very reasons that we all find ourselves in our current predicaments?”
At this, bickering amongst the gods suddenly broke out.
“Could we, at the very least, be civil for once? I do not wish to see a repeat of our previous few reunions.” Blanche pleaded, only to fall upon deaf ears as the bickering gradually rose louder.
Chiasmus began to tense up, as her pastel aura emanated more strongly, causing the environment within her radius to glitch into polygons.
Kirai looked around at all of his siblings. If he could make facial expressions, he would have currently been wearing one of ‘I fucking hate my family.’
Blanche drew a long sigh, adjusting her position in her chair. She removed one of her gloves, finding her skin speckled with bright white star-like dots visible in the reflection of her tea. The ends of her hair faded away into strands of stardust and a pair of enormous wings sprouted from her back, enclosing her as her reflection in the tea disappeared completely, replaced by an image of the night sky.
“Listen, all of you.” the voice of Azel’kyra emanated from the void in the shape (or lack thereof) of a beast towards all of the avatars, who were ensnared in the gaze of one thousand eyes for a brief moment which felt like eternity. Everyone immediately fell silent and sat down at the table, directing their full attention towards Blanche as she reverted back into her normal form, sighing with what seemed to be disappointment. “I really wish that I wouldn’t have to employ such…unsavory tactics to command attention, but I’ve been left with no other choice…”
Blanche paused for a moment, and when it was clear that nobody would dare interrupt her now, she proceeded to give her speech. “Our age, the time where we were to rule and directly influence civilizations on a massive scale, is over. It has been for quite some time. While their uprising was certainly not without incident, I do believe it was only a matter of time. Sooner or later, their progress would outpace us, and they would seek to choose their own path. It’s no secret to anyone here that we all took very different approaches to their insurgence, and from there, conflict arose. Our once-united fellowship lay shattered, and while we're no longer all in isolation, some fractures still remain. We cannot erase the past. We know that the Enigmachina is incapable of altering history.”
“Well, actually…” The Gearmaker began to say after a sip of eggnog, before realizing that it would probably be best to remain quiet.
Blanche continued her speech. “We can, however, try to move past it, and towards a new future for us. I sincerely wish we could simply get along. No more intrigues nor grudges or power struggles, no more secret plans or needless loss of innocent lives. Is that too much to ask?”
“Well, I wouldn't call them ‘grudges’. Sibling rivalry is natural, even amongst those humans you love so much.” Kirai remarked.
“Well, sibling rivalries don't usually involve countless lives, do they? When was the last time that you all have ever truly spoken to humans, as equals?” Blanche retorted.
The avatars looked around and briefly murmured amongst themselves in response.
Philia then continued on from Blanche’s speech. “Many of you have been blinded by your pain. You remain chained to the past, prisoners of grudges that keep you from changing, from growing. Any efforts you could have directed to those purposes were instead spent on the largest game of chess one could imagine, where victory meant getting revenge. But I maintain faith that all of you may still change for the better. Change is the only constant, and if the humans we surround ourselves with display such adaptability and willingness to improve oneself, I don't see why we shouldn't be able to do the same. Of course, such a process takes time, but I'm more than willing to wait. Time is not really much of an issue to us, after all.”
Blanche slowly nodded. “Well said, sister. The Council, or ‘The Pantheon’ – at least, as we once knew it – is long gone. Though, perhaps it is for the better…” She took a sip of tea. “If we are to remain chained to the grudges of centuries ago, then we, as a collective, won’t be able to keep up with the new age.” Blanche set down her now-empty teacup after one final sip. “And so that is the true purpose of this gathering. There is so much more to Christmas than what you might think. It stands as a symbol of unity, a time where families come together and set aside their differences, even if for only one night. All that I really want for Christmas, is for this family to be together once again…that at least for tonight, we may set aside our feuds and our self-appointed responsibilities, and simply exist together in this present moment.”
For a moment, only silence graced the room. The avatars appeared to genuinely contemplate Blanche and Philia’s words, in a rare moment of empathy for many of them. A silent agreement seemed to begin forming among them – they would entertain Blanche and Philia’s request just for tonight, for their sake more than anything else.
“Sigh…very well…” The Keymaster grumbled with relent, before the rest of the avatars slowly nodded in agreement.
At that moment, Solaris suddenly stood up as her armor began to morph, changing to resemble a red velvet “Mrs. Claus”-style dress, and a miniature red constellation in the shape of a Santa hat materialized above her head. “Ah, finally!” she proclaimed in a sing-song voice.
“Wow, you’re dressed just like Mariah Carey!” The Game Master remarked.
“Oh, I had no idea you were this…festive,” The Keymaster murmured with confusion.
Solaris nodded with a grin. “I had faith you'd make the right decision, my love.”
Both Blanche and Philia smiled with joy, seeing that perhaps this plan just might work.
“Oh, this is wonderful! I promise, you shall not regret this!” Philia ensured everyone.
The Game Master began playing music through the speakers of her mask that reverberated throughout the library.
As the party commenced in full-swing, tensions between the various godlike beings remained as taut as a drawn bow.
Across the room, The Keymaster stood rigid near the Christmas tree, arms crossed, looking profoundly uncomfortable as he held his mug of Bovril that remained largely unsipped.
Solaris drifted beside him, placing a hand upon his shoulder with concern. “You are clenching your jaw,” she said, her voice soft.
“I am tolerating…” The Keymaster corrected.
“You’ve been ‘tolerating’ for nearly forty minutes. Our daughters are watching.”
Indeed, Ceres and Nebula lurked near the refreshment table, the former aggressively eating cookies while glaring at anyone who came too close and the latter offering apologetic smiles to everyone her sister scared away.
“Father looks as if he’s being held hostage…” Nebula thoughtfully observed, tapping a finger on her chin.
“That’s ‘cause he is…” Ceres muttered around a mouthful of gingerbread. “It’s hella cringe.”
Further away from the noise, a gloomier gathering took place. The Dark Sovereign hovered like a pillar of smoke, his two white eyes fixated on Kirai. The avatar of Chaos was currently a puddle of shifting ooze on a velvet armchair, seemingly content to vibe to the jazz music.
“You are dripping on the upholstery,” The Dark Sovereign intoned with a voice like grinding stones.
“The stain adds character, don’t you think?” Kirai burbled, forming a mouth just to grin.
Y’liad Elyion stood by a window that looked out onto a swirling void of snow. He looked pale, his hand resting on the hilt of Bittersteel. He seemed ready to bolt at any moment, but Olivia’s presence grounded him. She handed him a cup of tea.
“You don't have to talk to anyone you don't want to,” Olivia said softly. “Just being here is enough.”
Y’liad took the cup, his grey eyes scanning the room. “They…are loud. It is…overwhelming. But…” he glanced at her, “the tea is…acceptable.”
Elsewhere, The Game Master loudly recounted a story to the Game Player, Puzzle Maker and Comedy Creator, her digital face displaying a manic “>w<” emote. “-So I told the guy, ‘If you land on Boardwalk, I'm taking your kneecaps!’” She cackled, swinging her oversized mallet like a baton. “And he actually cried! Best Tuesday ever.”
Half of Dandizette’s mask-face laughed at the story, while the other half had its attention drawn elsewhere. They stared down at the piano, their tentacled form draped across the instrument in a pose that somehow managed to be both festive and deeply unsettling. By now, they were very drunk. “Nunca would have loved this,” they slurred to no one in particular. “He always… always said I threw the worst parties. ‘Dandy,’ he'd say, ‘your parties have a mortality rate.’ And I'd say… I'd say…” They trailed off, bells on their jester's cap jingling morosely.
The Muralist drifted past, but Dandizette’s words gave her pause. She tilted her head toward the squid-jester. “The murals remember him,” she said softly. “In the Hall. I painted his laughter. It still echoes, sometimes, when the light is right.”
Dandizette's many eyes blinked wetly. “…thank you.”
Near the fireplace, The Red Knight stood like a crimson monument, his armor catching the strange flames and throwing bloody reflections across the bookshelves. He had not removed his helmet—He could not, really. The armor was as much him as flesh would be to others.
Shani stood beside him. She has braided bells into her dark hair for the occasion, and they chimed softly whenever she moved. Shani nudged the Red Knight with her shoulder. “Come on, at least pretend you’re not miserable.”
The Red Knight’s helmet angled toward her with a scraping creak. “I am pretending,” he grumbled, voice like iron dragged across stone.
“You should try the cookies,” Shani suggested.
“I cannot eat.”
“You could hold a cookie. For morale.”
A sound emerged from within the helmet—something that might have been a laugh or a scoff, but came out sounding like grinding metal regardless. “‘Morale’…” he echoed.
“-Everyone’s morale. You’re looking like a gargoyle, the way you’re standing here like this. People keep staring.”
“Good. They should remain alert.”
Shani rolled her eyes, resting a hand upon his armored forearm. “You can relax, you know. They’re not going to start a war in Blanche’s library.”
“The odds are non-zero…” the Knight’s gaze was fixed on Icarus, who was across the room using a purple-flame finger-flick to light the cigarette of a mildly amused Alchemist. “You look… well-charred,” The Red Knight’s voice carried across a sudden lull in the noise.
Icarus turned his skull-face, purple embers flaring in his sockets. “And you, a walking septic wound. Some things never change.” He took a sip from his own cup, which sizzled as the liquid hit the purple flames in his throat. “Still playing the penitent hero? How many have you saved today only to watch them die tomorrow?”
Shani’s grip tightened on the Knight’s arm. “That’s enough, Icarus.”
“Is it?” The burned angel cackled. “The night is young, and my bitterness eternal.” Icarus glided towards the punch table. “Enjoying the hors d'oeuvres, Claudius?” he rasped. “Does the food turn to ash in your mouth, or is that just my presence?”
“Walk away, Augustus,” The Red Knight growled, the ribbons beneath his armor tensing like muscles clenching. “For the sake of the truce.”
“‘Truce’,” Icarus cackled with a dry rattle. “How very noble. You always were the noble one, weren’t you? While I burned.”
Before the confrontation could escalate any further, Shani stepped between the two. “Enough,” she interjected.
With a huff, Icarus slunk back to the other side of the library.
Shani finally convinced the Red Knight to hold a cookie. He did not eat it, but he held it for a few minutes, which she counted as a victory.
Icarus now languished in a dark corner, positioning himself as far from the Red Knight as physically possible while still remaining in the same room.
“You’re sulking,” observed Chiasmus, who suddenly stood beside him. Her form shifted between states of being—sometimes statue, sometimes goddess, sometimes raw glitching data.
For the first time in centuries, Icarus felt his composure falter as Chiasmus directly addressed him.
“…Why are you here? I thought you preferred isolation.”
Chiasmus was quiet for a moment, her four eyes blinking in sequence. “Part of me wished to come,” she said finally. “And another missed… being around people. And another…” A pause. “…is still learning. How to want things. That aren’t painful.”
Icarus’ purple flames dimmed slightly. “…Ah.”
“Besides…” Her voice shifted, briefly becoming lighter. “The cookies are really good.”
The Muralist sat before her, sketching rapidly on a canvas, trying to capture the shifting geometry of the goddess. Chiasmus spent an hour talking to The Muralist about art and memory and the spaces where they overlap.
Kushim stood near the exit, as he always did—old habits of a warrior who never quite trusted peace. His scarred face was impassive, but his right eye gleamed faintly green in the firelight, seeing souls even when he tried not to.
Argos approached him with the deliberate movements of someone who expected to be rebuffed. The silence between them stretched. Ancient. Heavy. “You founded them,” Argos said finally. “You raised the hand that struck us down.”
“I did.”
“And now you stand here. Among us. Drinking wine.”
Kushim looked down at the cup in his hand, as if only now remembering it existed. "I am."
“Why?”
A long pause stretched between them, before Kushim finally replied. “…Lilith would have wanted me to. And…” He exhaled slowly. “…I am tired, Argos. I have been tired for so very long.”
Argos’ many eyes—some on his body, others disembodied—blinked in sequence, weighing, judging, seeing. He was suddenly pulled out from this state as Humility tugged on his robes, an anxious expression on his face.
“Father,” Humility whispered. “Please don’t judge anyone tonight. Aunt Blanche worked so very hard for this.”
Argos huffed, adjusting his tunic. “I am merely… observing. Though the chaotic one’s outfit is certainly a crime against order.”
Blanche clasped her hands together and spoke once more. “Alright, dears, it is time for our first activity! Penelope, dear, would you do the honors?”
The Pantheon gradually gathered around The Game Master, who stood beside the Christmas tree from the Crimson Forest. “Okay okay, so here we see the uh… spiky tree where the garbage trading thingamajig happens. Speaking of the fecking trees, why do they be so damn spiky? Aren’t trees, like, round, ya know? That’s how they look in the drawings, right?”
The avatars blankly stared at the Game Master.
“Anyways…!” The Game Master continued as she clapped her hands and started rubbing them together. “Let’s begin our game!” She grabbed a red ball-ornament from the tree and chomped into it, crunching on the glass-metal material as casually as a human would eat an apple. She then motioned with her hand for The Keymaster to come towards her. “C’mon, Keymaster, pull my finger!” she said with a wink.
The Keymaster narrowed his eyes. “What ruse are you playing here?” he questioned.
The Game Master gave an exaggerated gasp, placing a hand above her chest. “What?! I’m not doing anything! Just pull my finger.”
The Keymaster sighed again, pulling the Game Master’s finger. When the wooden joint clicked, his cup of bovril sprayed onto his face and temporarily blinded him. While he wiped it away, The Game Master pulled away a carpet covering the pile of wrapped gifts. “Wooooooooh, look at all of these presents that I just materialized!” she said while waving her fingers.
“Here is my gift to you, Keymaster!” Blanche beamed, handing him a small present. The Keymaster cautiously unwrapped it, finding a book on advice for social interactions. “Thank you, Blanche. How very…thoughtful…” He murmured.
“My turn!” Philia called out, handing a gift box to The Keymaster next. He opened it to find an ugly hand-knit sweater that read “KEY RULES!” in jagged, sparkling letters. He donned the sweater, looking profoundly uncomfortable as he tugged at the collar, his shadowy skin stark against the red wool. “It itches,” he muttered. “And it lacks… dignity.”
“Oh, it has plenty dignity,” Solaris countered, adjusting his collar with a smile. “Besides, Ceres and Nebula think you look dashing.”
Nebula smiled and nodded enthusiastically, while Ceres scoffed and tossed her hair out of the way of her face. “Nah dad, you look stupid as fuck in it.”
“OPEN MINE NEXT! OPEN MINE!” The Game Master’s shrill voice cut through the murmur, bouncing on the balls of her wooden feet, clutching a box poorly wrapped with yellow chevron-patterned paper in her hands.
The Keymaster sighed, narrowing his eyes at the box with a slight glare.
“Penelope, please lower your volume,” Blanche said, gliding over with a tray of porcelain cups. “We are in a library.”
“Ugh, *fine*, Miss Priss,” The Game Master stuck out a cloth tongue. She thrust the box at The Keymaster. “For you, key-boy!”
Warily, he took it. The box dissolved into confetti the moment he touched it, revealing a small, velvet bag. He upended it, and a cascade of cheap, novelty keychains—tiny plastic pineapples, glow-in-the-dark skulls, a fuzzy kitten—poured into his palm.
The Game Master cackled, her mask displaying a crying-laughing emoji. “SO YOU NEVER RUN OUT! GET IT?!”
Solaris placed a hand over her mouth to hide a smile, while Ceres snickered more obviously. Nebula, meanwhile, beamed with genuine enthusiasm. “What a wonderful gift, father!”
“Oh, you are just doing this on purpose-…” The Keymaster seethed under his breath, clenching his fist. But he chose to contain himself, inhaling sharply and exhaling his frustration through his nostrils. Slowly, he nodded in agreement. “Yes, wonderful gifts indeed…”
The Game Master then turned to Blanche. “I got you a gift, too!” She beamed, passing a box to her. Blanche unwrapped her gift to find two framed quotes; one saying "Live Laugh Love" and another saying "Wine a Little, Laugh a Lot". Blanche placed a hand over her heart. “Oh, Penelope, how sweet of you! I quite like the messages of these little pictoids, very cute! Thank you, I really appreciate this. I shall hang these up on my walls…”
“Of…course…B-Blanche…” The Game Master murmured between stifled snickers, pixelated blue tears welling up in her eyes as she desperately tried to hold herself back from bursting out into a fit of laughter.
“I have also prepared a gift,” Lorenzo Windsor said quietly. He held out a small, crystal jar that swirled with foggy memories. “For the archives. The… less painful recollections of Atlas. Before the fall.”
Blanche’s gentle expression softened with genuine gratitude. “Thank you, Lorenzo. That is a precious kindness.” She took the jar, and it vanished into the folds of her dress.
Soon, it was time for the next activity: the dance. What sounded to be an instrumental rendition of “Christmas Canon” began to play from a record player, filling the Cygnus Archive with its gentle melodies.
There seemed to be an awkward pause at first, before the various Gods gradually began to coalesce into their respective pairings – Claudius with Shani, Clavis with Solaris, and Y’liad with Olivia.
Chiasmus hovered slightly above the floor, her four arms moving in a slow, glitching ballet of pastel light. She didn’t speak, but a soft, sad smile was on one of her marble faces, her four eyes watching the living with ancient, weary affection. Though she could have danced with Icarus, she rejected him in favor of dancing with her own self.
Victor awkwardly stood on the sidelines, watching everyone else, before he suddenly found himself being pulled along onto the dance floor by the Game Master. “C’monnnn, Vic, don’t be shy!” She giggled teasingly, making him dance with her. Victor blushed as he clumsily followed along, feeling flustered – which was the Game Master’s intended effect.
“Oh, my love, isn’t this wonderful? Just like the winter solstice festivals of old…” Solaris murmured softly as she danced with The Keymaster, her hands placed upon his shoulders.
The Keymaster huffed in response. “I..suppose so. I will admit, this gathering is not nearly as dysfunctional as I had initially feared…”
Solaris chuckled. “See? You should heed my advice more often…” She placed a peck on his cheek.
Humility and Nebula – who had been awkwardly staring at each other over the course of the entire party up to this point – slowly and clumsily approached each other on the dance floor.
“Um…hello…” Humility murmured shyly.
“Uh, h-hi…” Nebula stammered in reply with equal shyness, blushing.
The two beings took each other’s hands, slowly and awkwardly dancing at arm’s length. Eventually, they both looked up to see Ceres dangling a mistletoe above them. “Oh my, what’s this?” She asked teasingly. Humility and Nebula blushed deeply, looking away from each-other and stammering as they became flustered, to which Ceres snickered mischievously.
Argos, watching the exchange from afar to ensure his son was up to no mischief, was caught off guard when the “Christmas tree” behind him suddenly pulled him into its embrace, with Protastheia making him dance with her.
Philia moved amongst the crowd of dancers, pairing up with one person for several minutes before moving on to the next.
Kirai, rather than dancing, was instead tampering with the punch bowls, swapping the labels on the ‘spiked’ and ‘non-spiked’ bowls with a grin.
By now, the party had begun to wind down, with many patrons now seated and engaged in conversation. In the background, The Game Master sat at a piano and clanked away at its keys, belting out a song all the while. “Oh, the weather outside is rizzy! And the fire is so skibidi…”
By the roaring fireplace, The Alchemist, The Pillar Scribe, and The Gearmaker gathered around in a circle of plush armchairs.
The Alchemist poured a generous amount of amber liquid into a flask, ignoring the tea. “It’s fascinating,” He mused, swirling his drink. “Social cohesion among deities. Statistically, we should’ve leveled the…erm…level by now.”
The Gearmaker sat opposite him, idly tinkering with aer own wrist as ae adjusted clockwork with a screwdriver. “The probability is steadily dropping,” ae clicked. “Blanche’s interference causes… irregularities in the timeline. But pleasant ones, nonetheless…”
The Pillar Scribe hunched in his chair, the mucus of his body staining the material as he frantically scribbled in a notebook, trying to document every interaction. “Must… record… Keymaster’s… sweater…”
“Oh, lighten upppp…” The Alchemist slurred, already three sheets to the wind. He clinked his glass against The Gearmaker’s. “Itza party! Observe the chemical reaction of repressed trauma and spiked eggnog! It’s quite fascinating!” He gestured vaguely towards where Dandizette was trying to teach a simple card trick to the Puzzle Maker, who kept accidentally turning the cards into live doves.
The Gearmaker and The Alchemist grew progressively more intoxicated, and began debating the thermodynamic properties of divine alcohol metabolism.
In another corner of the party, Blanche and Y’liad were seated together, having a heart-to-heart over cups of tea.
“The Council — The Pantheon — has it all been in vain?” Asked Y’liad.
“No, of course not….” Blanche softly replied. “We’ve done our part. We’ve led when we had to, and now, it’s time to let them be masters of their own fates. I’ve taken to giving them some guidance whenever I get the chance.”
Y’liad stared blankly for a moment. “Times may have changed…but history does not forget. Do you think they would take to me kindly today, those…humans?”
From another corner of the room, Kushim, Argos and The Red Knight exchanged judgmental glances at the very question, as if to rhetorically ask “What do you think?”
Nonetheless, Blanche entertained the question without judgement. “I believe so. This place has become quite dangerous to them. A large portion of them are unfamiliar with the myths of The Lost, and they could surely use some more help with surviving.”
“Perhaps. What did you think of me back then, Lady Blanche? Back in the Temple, in the first Spring until the first Winter. I am sure you have heard of it…” Y’liad drank another sip of his tea, seeming to have taken a liking to the drink.
“Well…I would be lying if I said that I did not feel sorrow when the news reached me. Some even came to me for refuge…I could not refuse.” Blanche looked to Y’liad. “I cannot say that I am fond of what you've done. I can, however, understand why you did it, to a certain degree. It seems you carry already a heavy burden with you, filled with guilt and regret. Although I still hold life as sacred, I believe that I can find it within my heart to forgive you, or at least put it past us. It was a long, long time ago. And after all, the purpose of this gathering was to put the past behind.”
“I see…” Y’liad finished his cup of tea, looking at Blanche with appreciation. “I must thank you for this opportunity to commune with you. I will…attempt to use my sword for the better. And I thank you for hearing my words as well.”
Blanche’s attention shifted towards the Pillar Scribe, still transcribing as he always was—had to be—his pen moving in frantic, compulsive scratches.
Blanche glided over to him, a cup of tea materializing in her hands as she approached.
“You don't have to work tonight,” she said gently. “Even Terminus can wait for but one evening.”
Paris’ pen hesitated. His twisted face lifted toward her. “It… it doesn't stop,” he whispered. “The words. They're always there. Even now, it's telling me about this moment. About you. About the tea.”
Blanche set the cup beside him anyway. “Then let it. But perhaps it might also transcribe something pleasant. A record of the night things were, for a moment, almost good.”
Paris stared at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he began to write again—but his hand seemed steadier now. Less frantic.
At the center of the main atrium, a long banquet table groaned under the weight of food manifested from memories of a thousand different cultures.
Blanche moved to the head of the table, her gown whispering against the floor. She did not clink a glass, but the room slowly quieted nonetheless as everyone directed their attention towards her in unison.
“My family,” she began, the word hanging in the air, fragile and heavy. “I know that this gathering was perhaps… unexpected. For many of us. We are… scattered. Across levels, across memories, across our own pride and pain. We have hurt each other. We have lost each other. We have spent centuries apart, nursing wounds that perhaps cannot truly heal. Our collective story has been one of fracture for so long.” She looked towards Y’liad, who met her gaze, his twin faces unreadable. She looked at The Keymaster and Solaris, their daughters between them. At the Red Knight and Shani. At the broken and the bitter and the kind. “Tonight,” Blanche continued, her voice softening, “we are not gods, nor avatars, nor monsters. We are a family, however dysfunctional. We share food, however bizarre,” she nodded to the Alchemist’s concoctions, “and music, however awkward.” She gestured to The Game Master, seemingly in her own world as she danced to distorted tunes playing through her speaker.. “Let this night be a new page. Not of forgetting, but of… realigning.”
Philia stepped forward, a small wrapped gift in her hands. “We made something. Together. For all of you.” She set the gift on the central table and it unwrapped itself, revealing a small crystal orb. Inside, preserved in perpetual motion, was a scene: Hoofstaad as it once was, before the fall, the temples gleaming, The Lost going about their worship, and there—standing together on the steps of the great temple—figures of light. The Pantheon. Whole.
For a moment, no one spoke.
“We cannot go back,” Blanche said quietly. “But perhaps we can go forward. Together. When we are ready.”
The silence held. Then, from across the room, came a sound no one expected. Icarus laughed. Though dry and raspy as usual, it was also audibly genuine. “Well,” the charred skeleton said, purple flames flickering in his sockets, “I suppose there are worse things than family.”
“Indeed,” agreed The Keymaster, raising his glass in something that was almost a toast. “Such as present company.”
And somehow, impossibly, that was the thing that broke the tension. Laughter rippled through the room—some genuine, some surprised, some merely performing the social ritual. But it was there.
Blanche lifted her own cup. “To the Council…the Pantheon. May we remember how to be one.”
Then, Philia raised her glass, a tear of crystalline joy tracing her cheek. “To family.”
One by one, reluctantly, awkwardly, cups were raised. It wasn’t a perfect unity. It was cracked, strained, and fraught with millennia of baggage. But for the first time in centuries, in a library dreamed by one that also dreamt of peace, they were all in the same room.
The festivities were disrupted by the sudden advent of faceless, heavily armored soldiers brandishing at least one of three symbols on their gear: an owl, the alchemical symbol of Mars, and a clenched fist. They each held one of Blanche’s invitations to the party, which they proceeded to burn before everyone’s eyes upon arrival.
Despite this theatrical display (or perhaps even because of it), most of the gods appeared unfazed and felt unthreatened. “You surely must be suicidal to provoke aggression from a gathering of beings of our magnitude…” The Keymaster scoffed.
However, the soldiers too appeared to remain unphased. They stepped aside to reveal Tom Von Haderach held at gunpoint with his hands raised in the air, a look of fear in his eyes as the soldiers shoved him towards Blanche.
“Tom! Are you alright, dear?!” Blanche asked with concern, wrapping her arms around Tom as she caught him.
“Blanche, you gotta get everyone out of here, before they…they…” Tom urgently stammered.
Suddenly, a pungent odor resembling that of rotten mangos began to fill the air, and many of the gods were overwhelmed with a heavy sense of disorientation – causing some of them to stumble and stagger or double over.
At this, Blanche immediately attempted to banish the soldiers, but found that she was unable to. Instead, she was overcome with a dull headache as her efforts were met with resistance by some yet-unidentified source.
The soldiers took advantage of the gods’ momentary confusion and drew their weapons; high-power firearms expertly engineered for the express purpose of gunning down powerful beings such as those which stood before them.
Like a flock of birds, the avatars scattered as the soldiers opened fire on the crowd. Most of them were able to evade the bullets, but found that their reflexes had seemingly deteriorated. Normally, they were able to foresee such events before they even occurred, leaving plenty of opportunity to evade mortal attacks. But in this instance, they were completely caught off-guard.
Argos found himself among the less fortunate, being struck in his legs by some of the bullets. While he was no stranger to such wounds, what baffled him was that in this moment, he felt pain. It was this pain which caused him to slow down and lose some of his composure, gaining a slight limp.
Kushim, Y’liad and The Red Knight – albeit somewhat reluctantly – provided backup to Argos, joining in confronting the humans.
Though the difference in power between the avatars and humans remained apparent, it also appeared to be shrinking. The gods began to notice that the humans’ reflexes became faster, their blows became stronger. They remained clueless as to where these humans could have possibly attained such power, especially without being avatars themselves. However, as the blows of the soldiers began to draw blood, and the avatars began to feel pain, the realization of the truth dawned upon them. These humans had not gained power at all; rather, the avatars were being drained of their own. But the question remained: what was causing it?
One of the soldiers revealed a small metallic spherical device in his hand, inscribed with runes of The Lost. It seemed to be the source of whatever disruption the gods currently experienced. “Like our new toy? Sol engineered it from a deuclidator and some tech found in Level 0. It disrupts and manipulates the frequency of Liminality in the environment. But all that boring shit is besides the point. What really matters is that killing you scum has just become a whole lot easier for us…” The space around them began to expand and contract, fluctuating in geometrical integrity, seemingly in response to this “liminality disruption field”.
The Alchemist adjusted his glasses. “Wow, how intriguing…” he deadpanned. “But there’s only one problem; you just told us exactly how to stop you.”
Mustering all the reserves of strength within him, Y’liad lashed the fluid blade of bittersteel across the wrist of the soldier, gracefully separating the hand holding the device from his body. Kushim then proceeded to slash his katana through the device, slicing it clean in half with a small explosion. The disruption field instantaneously lost all momentum that it had been building up, now beginning to recede as it no longer had a source of energy.
With power now returning to the gods, they easily overpowered the soldiers and made quick work of them, incapacitating them all near-instantly.
Blanche stood up, dusting off and smoothing out her dress. “Well, now, it seems like everything is finally settle-” her words were suddenly cut short, replaced with a strangled gasp choking out from her as her body jerked forward slightly and her hands reached down to cover her abdomen. Silence fell over the room as she then shakily pulled her hands away, revealing them to be stained with a sparkling blue fluid. Everyone stared with abject horror at the blade piercing Blanche’s abdomen from behind, dripping with the cosmic ichor which bled from her. It was then that everyone noticed the soldier behind Blanche, gripping onto the handle of the dagger he had so viciously driven into the Goddess of Curiosity. The archive all around them began to distort even further, as if fading into the void alongside Blanche herself.
Argos launched himself towards the soldier and tackled him, making him involuntarily dislodge the blade from Blanche as he held onto it tightly. Argos slammed him against the bookshelves, pinning him with his spear which pierced through his shoulder.
Meanwhile, Philia quickly grabbed onto Blanche and pulled her fully out of the range of the shrinking field. She used her healing powers on her, casting a pink beam of light from her palms and waving it over the wound. As Blanche was healed, the deterioration of the Cygnus Archive slowed down and then reversed.
The soldiers were lined up in row, all kneeling on their knees with their hands bound behind their backs. The Red Knight began to raise his sword, poised to execute them in one swift stroke as retribution for their actions.
“-Stop!” Blanche suddenly called out, causing Claudius to freeze mid-swing with his blade mere inches from the soldiers’ throats. “You know well that all life is precious to me.”
“But sister, they tried to kill you – all of us…” Argos argued, his sense of Justice on full display.
“I know…” Blanche softly spoke. “But by stooping to their level, we would be no better. Besides; sparing their lives does not mean that they should not, or cannot, still be held accountable in some way…”
The Keymaster stepped forth. “I believe that I may have a reasonable resolution…” He produced a key in his hand, at which point the soldiers suddenly blinked out of sight. “Some odd-thousand years of reflection in my prison should suffice…”
Ceres, with an almost stunned expression on her face, softly murmured, “Best. Party. Ever.”
With the previous matter having been resolved, the rest of the Pantheon turned to face Blanche once again, seeing that she now stared at the floor with a seemingly ashamed expression.
“I do apologize for my…admittedly manipulative tactics tonight…” Blanche sheepishly murmured. “Although I believed that my cause was a noble one, I suppose that I acted somewhat selfishly…”
Solaris placed a hand on Blanche’s shoulder in reassurance. “It's quite alright, sister. We understand why.”
The Keymaster stepped forth. “As much as I did not want to admit, I believe that this gathering truly was for the best.”
The Red Knight nodded. “Though some grudges may remain unforgiven, I am of the mind that they may be…temporarily set aside, to address greater problems.”
“I concur…” Argos agreed. “It now seems that The Iron Fist is on the rise once more, and they are devoting all of their energy into wiping us out for good.”
“Unity may be more important now than ever in these times…” Kushim mused. “I may be willing to work alongside the rest of you, if only to right my previous wrongs in creating this enemy that we all face.”
The rest of the avatars nodded amongst themselves in unison, echoing similar sentiments.
“I am glad that we are all now more willing to be collaborative once more,” Blanche stated. “But remember, the true purpose of this gathering was not to form an alliance for a mounting war. It was to bring us together as the family we once were. I still hope that does not still remain outside the realm of possibility.”
At that moment, everyone turned to face a jester resembling Nunca who entered the room, seeming to be lost.
“-Ah, my apologies, I seem to have taken a wrong turn somewhere. I am looking for The Storyteller’s Christmas party…”
“The Storyteller’s party is down that way, my dear…” Blanche softly spoke, pointing towards another passage in the Cygnus Archive.
“Thank you..” The Jester replied, before proceeding on his way through the passage.