Amid the desolation and ruin, the crumbling walls stood silent, bearing witness to it all.
Crimson blood flowed down a gleaming longsword.
Drip by drip, it pooled beneath Hades, forming a small puddle.
The blade was undoubtedly coated with an anti-coagulant and other toxins.
Hades knelt, teeth gritted, glaring at the uninvited guest before him.
The blade had pierced right where his first heart was. He could feel his searing blood surging out.
A potentially fatal wound, yet it left Hades teetering on the brink of death.
His artificial cerebral lining began the irreversible process of initiating pseudo-death.
Hades' pupils constricted, his sheer willpower delaying the onset of this false demise.
"Don't fall asleep, dear," a voice cooed.
A brass-colored gun pressed gently against Hades' throat, threateningly.
Black leather juxtaposed with vibrant plaid emitted an odd luminescence due to visual interference, casting a phosphorescent glow on the edges of his attire.
"Greetings, Fate's Chosen. I am but a disciple, here to follow the currents of destiny."
The eerie mask, with its absurdly large grin, was clear to see.
Hades recognized him instantly—
A Jester of the Eldar!
The Eldar, once rulers of the Milky Way, had their era of grandeur and bliss.
With advanced technology, abundant production, stability, and blessings from multiple Spirit deities, they were the most extravagant race in the galaxy.
Yet, amidst eons of comfort, their desire for hedonism grew.
As technology and peace prevailed, their chase for desires began.
Sensory pleasures, indulgences, and decadence overtook the entire clan.
But excessive hedonism would eventually bring catastrophe.
Amidst the Eldar's debaucheries, a tangible entity began to form in subspace.
The first cries tore through the barriers between subspace and the physical universe, and the entity, Lust, seized its dominion.
A new ruler had emerged in subspace.
Lust's birth shattered the glorious Spirit Empire. From then, the scattered remnants of the Eldar lost their former glory.
The jesters, however, were different.
A few clear-minded spirits, including the cunning jesters, chose to mock their clan's descent into debauchery with satirical performances under the guidance of the Spirit God of Laughter, Xigaoqi.
They escaped the apocalypse brought by Lust's birth. Since then, they've hidden within the intricate webways, fading from history's spotlight.
But in the galaxy's shadows, with their uncanny prophetic abilities, the jesters remained active on their stages.
To humanity, though—
Hades, feeling the pain intensify, glared at the grinning face. His power armor injected adrenaline and stimulants.
Aliens had to be exterminated!
Despite the critical wound, Hades lunged, using his left arm to deflect the gun from his neck. His scythe, Death's Call, sliced through the air!
The jester, caught off guard by Hades' resurgence, leapt aside.
Rather than face attacks, jesters preferred evasion.
Gunshots echoed, but Hades, anticipating this, deflected the bullets with his armor.
His attacks grew faster and more ferocious!
Slash, thrust, hook!
The sharp blade of the scythe tore the jester's attire, and blood droplets cascaded down.
For the first time, Hades regretted not poisoning his blade.
However, with every movement, he felt blood filling his chest.
"Cough!"
His speed slowed, eventually coming to a standstill.
Using his scythe for support, Hades refused to fall.
One more bomb to detonate within him.
His consciousness faded, but he held on, waiting for the right moment.
The jester, thrown off rhythm, grew silent, abandoning his theatrical antics.
Seemingly a mishap in the performance, other backstage figures appeared to investigate.
Visual interference shimmered as six jesters of varying attire entered Hades' view.
[The Chosen One mustn't deviate from the prophecy.]
[Alterations mean changes. Let's end this.]
The jester shook his head in annoyance.
He approached Hades again, maintaining distance.
"Hello."
He began anew.
"We are not your enemies."
Absurd! Laughable!
"Guided by Him, we bring you a message about the future."
"Trust the prophecy."
A melodic chant resonated, and a deck of cards appeared in the jester's hand.
Drawing a card, he flashed it before Hades.
+Whom should you trust? Humanity.+
+Whom to guard against? Your kind.+
The blue card glowed, turning gray as it flipped.
+What do you desire? Desire nothing.+
+What don't you desire? That which you desire.+
A red card emerged, quickly replaced by chaotic colors.
The jester attempted to draw another card, making a show of its difficulty. With a flourish, he finally revealed a pitch-black card.
+When your left ear itches and the right aches, run. The faster, the better.+
Unrelated to the previous cards, the jester flipped it to reveal another black side.
+Bon appétit.+
With those words, the jester somersaulted, gracefully bowing to Hades.
Another jester tossed a healing spray, ensuring Hades wouldn't die. The troupe took their bow and exited through previously set webways.
In the aftermath of the Eldar's bizarre prophecy, Hades succumbed to his pseudo-death, standing tall, enveloped in darkness.
The barren wind whispered past.
After an indeterminate time, a blue glow ran across Gold's screen.
"Creak!"
Engines forcibly restarted.
Gold, highly mechanized with four backup processors and three artificial brains, slowly rose from the debris.
Did these alien fools think his brain was his core?
Limping, he approached the still-standing Hades, parts occasionally falling off.
After stabilizing Hades, Gold sent out a distress signal.
Turning to Sage Kirkland, he saw the sage, bisected at the waist, with a charred bullet mark on his central processor.
The sage's biological storage had burst upon impact.
Even without the alien's shot, the sage's fate was sealed.
Silently, Gold stared at Kirkland's shattered form, a sight he'd dreamt of countless times.
The sage who had abused and used him was finally gone.
Gold accessed the massive data package Kirkland had sent him at the last moment.
The first stream of data read:
[These are all my anti-spirit energy research papers.]
[You've been with me for so long; you can pick this up.]
[For the God of Machines, for Ohm Messiah.]
Ha.
Too bad Sage Kirkland had removed Gold's tear ducts.