#surprise! im back with a new installment after a quiet period due to The Holidays!

[circesays]

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Joel felt… off. It wasn’t something the god could quite put his finger on. His villagers were fine, the temples were cleaned and had offerings, nothing was on fire or falling or cracking or breaking or crumbling to pieces, splitting in half-

(Pix smiled grimly at Oli, prodding the fire and adding another log. “I’ve had a... theory... as to how this is happening. I think there's more to all of this pain than we initially thought."

Oli eyed the historian from where he was idly strumming his new lute, the remains of their dinner already gone. Over the hill, the first grumbles of zombies began to emerge. “Is that why we’re-?”

“Yes, that's why we're, ah, detouring. What do you know about Empires? The idea behind the server itself?”)

But. Something was wrong. He frowned as he took in the setting sun over his glorious Empire. He’s a god, mighty and divine and perfect, there was no reason to be upset or frustrated or anything! No mob could climb his walls, no emperor was causing mischief in his domain, nothing! So why...?

(“Well uh- emperors come together and settle in different biomes, using lore magic and Player magic to build up Empires that match a certain theme. Uhhhh, we also get special abilities and people living in our empires based on the Lore we come up with? I’m not sure what else you’re looking for here, Pix, you gotta work with me here!”)

Joel was distracted from his troubles by a small presence and pulling motion. He glanced down to find Hermes hovering on his shoes, tugging on his toga with both hands and a determined look on his face. A smile spread across the god's face, uncontrollable and inevitable when his precious child was around.

“Hello, son, how are you? Daddy looked like such a grump, huh?”

(“Yes. That’s generally how it goes. However…” Pixlriffs paused to gather his thoughts, his hands fluttering and twisting as he tried to word it just right. “There’s more to the biomes and lore magic. They’re… intertwined, in a way. Every biome is special, with specific history and capability for life. And with capability for life comes a capability for its own lore magic.”)

Hermes shook his head, a little scowl on his face. He let go of his father’s toga. “You’ve been acting weird,” the demigod signed. Hermes was having a quiet day, then.

Joel raised a single eyebrow. “Acting weird? What do you mean I’m acting weird? That’s not very nice, you know, I thought Papi Sausage taught you better than that.”

(“Okay, so different biomes mean different magic, seems simple enough. But what does that have to do with what’s happening to Jimmy?”

Pix paused from where he was using his soot-stained stick to doodle on the floor. “Well, see, that’s the thing. Different biomes have very different magics. But some biomes are also older than others, more powerful. More dangerous, even.”)

“You’re not yourself. Something is super weird, Dad. I’m worried about you.” Hermes put extra emphasis on his unique sign for his dad, the normal sign for father trailing immediately into the sign for lightning- tapping his head with his thumb twice and sharply moving into a downwards zigzag.

The god sighed. “Nothing is wrong, Hermes. I just feel like something is off. Nothing your big, strong, sexy, tall, amazing dad can’t take care of.” He patted his child on the head affectionately.

(Oli stared down at his lute thoughtfully, quietly, as if it held all of the answers he needed. “The plains biome is super old, right?”

Pix leaned forward. “The plains biome was the first.”)

Hermes sighed and wrapped his dad in a hug before darting off to play with his toys. He’d just have to talk to his Papi later.

Joel returned to staring out over the plains below, his eyes glowing bright green as he took it all in.

(“Joel wanted to be a god this season. He reached out to the magic of the plains and asked to be powerful, to be tall and handsome and sexy and capable of bending the world to his whim. And the plains, the oldest and most powerful biome, ever adaptable, reached back.”)

Behind him, the fountain of godliness and power and generosity gleamed and glowed gently in the encroaching twilight. Joel sat on the edge as he took it in, carelessly letting his clothes soak the water in.

(“You saw the strings, Oli. Dozens upon dozens, floating through the sky. But the strings didn't come from nothing. Which begs the question, what is anchoring them on the other end?”)

But what Joel could not see were the strings wrapped around his own throat. Every inch of him had a string, wrapping tightly and loosely, twine and wire and strings, strings, strings, more than Pixlriffs, more than Jimmy, weaving between the threads of his clothes and under his skin and-

His clothes dripped strings like water droplets as he let them soak.

(Oli and Pix both turned to take in the hundreds of strings flowing towards Stratos, floating in the distance. The gleaming city was enveloped in ominous green light. “We’ll reach the capital by tomorrow at noon,” Pix murmured, and Oli shivered in the rapidly cooling night.)

Joel could not see that the water was radiating bright green, and that the water was not water at all, but a fountain of twisting, glowing, writhing string.