But it could not be forever. Though now was infinite, it was also not. It held infinite possibility. But it did not have infinite duration. For stopped time to be true and perfect, it would mean ossification, the stripping away of change that the observer so dearly loved.

  There cannot be something created anew, without the destruction of the old.

  Creative Destruction.

  The Rogue Queen Talisa Talauth is Dead. Long Live the Rogue Queen.

  Long Live the Rogue Princess,

  Long Live the Rogue Queen,

  Long Live the Rogue Empress,

  Long Live the Rogue Goddess, Vilithe Talauth-Callethe.

  It had to come to an end.

  It had come to this.

  They had decided.

  And now it is done.

  Talisa met her end with true bravery, for inside, she was so scared. So scared of what might come next. She just didn’t know. When her daughter summoned her mother again, would she even be the same? She would most certainly not still be alive after all. Would she be…

  …a spirit?

  But her warm fae smile for her new daughter did not show her trepidation. She gave Vilithe nothing but love and comfort. Every drop of it that she could give.

  She willingly released the time stop.

  Jhynie smashed the butt of her rifle into the face of the penultimate bodied simulacrum. The penultimate simulacrum fell back without a cry.

  Jhynie leveled her railgun, and, feeling she was somehow ending something sacred, profaning it – she had never killed a Queen before, it was Senjya herself who ended Sidarael, Jhynie had never taken the life of a station so far above hers – she had to look away. Forgive her. She did not know what she was doing.

  The railgun was a mercy, its damage so devastating that the penultimate queen felt nothing, was nothing, disintegrated into beautiful ash as the spirits in her body refused to let her be seen in such an undignified state.

  It’s the one with the katana! It’s gotta be!

  The last bodied simulacrum, the one designated to be prime, was still hugging her daughter. Though her daughter was not really there with her, and was a psionic projection, so strong was their love that it created real mass, real substance, a substance so hard, so stable, so soft, malleable and ductile and brimming with potential for beauty, so naz, so shiny, so glowing, so bright, so noble, that there was simply no other way to describe it other than golden.

  Vilithe was holding on to her mother, sitting in the cot there with her. Their heads buried in each other's arms, relishing every single real second of time, undilated, unpolluted with psionics, just raw, pure beings. Being with each other. Being there. Being in the same point in space time. Moving through the continuum together as one. Just for now. While they can. While they still could.

  While they were still alive, after all.

  A Knight reached behind the very last simulacrum that had a body, grabbed her roughly, held a knife to her throat. He too knew that something truly important, far beyond his limited understanding, was being ended by his following of his orders. And he truly felt sad. He didn’t want to do it, but he had to. He had to. So, he whispered a prayer and said, “Forgive me, Goddess.” And if so, we all know which Goddess he was asking forgiveness from. And it was not Maetra Amallark.

  The nanoscopic edge of the blade gently slipped through the flesh between jugular and the harsh reality of the fractal violence of Aryss, left there by the Triumvirate, which had just lost its last Queen. For the last one remaining was no true Queen at all, but only the Traitor Empress. Black blood did not burst, or gush, or spray out, it simply left, emptying the Queen of her pain and her struggle and her burden, leaving only a form, beautiful in enduring, unending, perfect embalmment.

  Any remaining Talauthians had been neutralized: dead, or fresh for flaying. Instead of crowding out the Inner Sanctum, Amefrid ordered organized and systematic looting of the Template laboratory and psionic warrior training ground, deep in the brain terrain of Deuteronilus Mensae.

  Eidren immediately projected his psionic presence – his first time ever, but he didn’t even have to try, he just knew how – straight into the reaver, to find his love sobbing uncontrollably. He knelt on one knee by her side, but not on the cot, just next to it.

  “Vi, are you okay? Did she hurt you? Are you okay?” She was hurt. But not in the way he thought.

  It couldn’t be stopped. It couldn’t be helped. In one hyper cavitated psionic time perception dilation bubble, she sent the exact recording of her meeting with Goddess Mother Rogue Queen Talisa, her mother-in-law, directly into Eidren’s third eye, so he could experience it instantaneously but with as much perceived time as he needed. Eidren could spend all the time contracting and dilating back and forth going over the conversation she had with their mother.

  Eidren didn’t want to leave.

  It could have been possible he spent hundreds of revolutions, centuries, perhaps even millenia, of perceived time bouncing his way back and through this sacred talk between Vilithe and Talisa. It was hard to say, it depended on the true limit of his psionic ability, and no spirits were allowed to enter with him into these sacred thoughts.

  It was instantaneous of course, but not to Eidren. So, finally, to him, he emerged from the most loving refuge he’d ever had. Every talent he had ever possessed before his mind flaying was returned. His memories returned crisp and clear, even where they shouldn’t be, even his emerging through the bacta upon his first waking conscious moment. He had to trade his childhood, his aging accelerated in the tank as it was, for it to reach this elixir, but perhaps it was worth it.

  It was worth it. It was worth it all along.

  Goodbye mother.

  Wait! Not yet.

  “Oh Goddess, no, no, I have to talk to her one last time! I have to!” Eidren immediately melted into a blubbering mess just like Vilithe, but his physical self was still in the field of combat. Stumbling, vision warped by teary prisms, he fell prostrate in front of the closest Talisa that he believed had still some sign of life. She had just been shot. He was lucky, she still had one last handhold to cling to on her mortal coil before she shuffled away to join her other selves.

  Choking up as he collapsed before her,“Mum! Mum! I’m sorry! Please… please, forgive me. Mum.” He sobbed so hard he could barely utter whispers to her ear, he tenderly lifted her head close, it was so like her first touch of him outside of her cocoon.

  “Oh Eidrie, you didn’t-”, spirits tried desperately to stitch her bronchus together for her hero lines, “You didn’t know…”

  She took a deeply perforated, painful inhalation.

  “Did you miss the part about not ruining my redemption moment?”

  “Mum,” he choked out a weak smile, “Why are you such a troll sometimes?”

  “I was, wasn't I? I wish-”, perforated breath, “I wish I loved you more…”

  “You loved me plenty, Mum. You did.”

  She winced as she tried her best to give him a comforting smile.

  “I could have… done better.”

  “Don’t say that, Mum. Please don’t say that. You don’t need to say that.” He grimaced so hard, the tears still fell relentlessly, he wanted to pull his face off so that she could not see how much he was suffering in her dying moments.

  The Archon knew that this would hurt them both.

  Dying Last Body Talisa rolled her eyes, deciding that the tormentous amount of pain she was in and lack of Time Stop – feeling this agony in real time – meant that this was all quite pointless now. The Ninth had communicated everything they needed to communicate, and he could just go flip back to scry that, so she decided it was time for the encore. Besides, they could just see each other again. Play Mahjong with the Body Snatcher, lucky bitch. Let’s close the curtains.

  The Archon also knew that these two souls that the Archon so loved, as much as Talisa did now, could not be without each other.

  “I think… I think Vilithe has something to say to you.”

  And scene. Talisa’s last body died.

  This was the only way their love could be joined.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Warping back to his astral projection, a bit disorienting this time because he wasn’t used to such quick sudden shifts in spacetime – he found himself, of course still on one knee by Vilithe’s cotside.

  The Archon had seen it all before them. It was all so probable, and so clear.

  Love cannot be stopped.

  “Eidren, will you marry me?”

  She had fashioned a crude little ring out of some twisted flax of gryphantene fibers she implored the spirits to peel off for her and weave into a solid little ring. The spirits happily obliged. She was sitting with her legs folded together now, and it was Eidren who was on one knee, but she held the little ring clasped in her hand, a black, unbreakable band, a bond, and offered it to her soon to be fiance.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes, I would like nothing more!” he put it on and kissed her hard, and she kissed hard back. It was again, impossible, because it was his psionic projection, but he too somehow broke through the continuum of spacetime and they could both swear that they had finally actually kissed, for real, for the first time ever. Magic. Truly magic. Rare as it may be.

  “Ooh boi, look at this, the Rogue Queen really did a number on the Suicide Squad didn’t she?”

  Eidren realized there was still someone he had to say goodbye to.

  Vilithe gently pushed his kiss away with her hands on his cheek and nodded, and said, “Go do your thing, Eidrie.”

  Eidren, still grievously injured, staggered over to the bodies of Ezreal and Enon. Ezreal was dead- his head had been shot. Eidren lightly closed his eyelids. And yet, though he had a gaping railgun hole in his chest, Enon was somehow still alive, after all. Because he was the best, didn’t you know that?

  Enon, was therefore lucky enough to have witnessed everything, still with that frickin’ bowl cut. But now he didn’t care. Truly a marvel, a gift to the universe. Enon had his back the whole time and more, he just didn’t know.

  The psionic shockwave of the clashing Rogue Queen and the Archon, the imminence of his death, not to mention the total domination, had been more than enough to awaken Enon’s latent psionic power – never realized until his last moments, tragically – and reawaken every memory. He couldn’t make any indication to the Vilithe and his mum otherwise that he was present, just a fly on the wall, but he had snuck along with the Ninth Simulacrum to Vilithe’s reaver. Talisa, noticing him, scurried him away to yet another little psionic pocket where she had her own conversation with him, and they spent a lot of time together, just mother and son.

  Queens. They were psionic masters. The best that there were.

  But theirs was dead. Long Live the Queen of Clan Talauth.

  “Hey, brother.” Enon said weakly with his non-optional lung.

  “Boi, oh- fuck. Bro. Hang in there, you can-”

  “No, I can’t, Eidrie, are you kidding me? Fucking railgun, elvan.”

  Cough of blood.

  “Brother, you wouldn’t- you wouldn’t happen to be able to hallucinate yer boi Big Nonny over here one of- one of those cigarettes Mom had, could ya?”

  Without having done it before, Eidren produced a fae cigarette.

  “Here you go, Enon,” he handed it over, “All for you.”

  “Wh- Didn’t think you could actually do it,” he took a long drag before coughing hard and painful because it was the first cigarette he’d ever smoked, and it wasn’t even real “Oof! You sure?” But now he was beginning to enjoy the buzz of nicotiana. He handed it back.

  “It’s supposed to lead to a long lifetime of addiction, to self-hallucinate. Don’t want to start a habit of it.”

  Some Amallarkeans gathered to watch the scene to think to themselves wow, Queen Talisa really scrambled their brains didn’t they, this bowl cutted one was miming smoking a cigarette.

  “Suitchaself.” Enon kept smoking, light puffs this time. Was this what it was like to go out a hero? No- a winner? The best crack shot of the Hated Eight.

  Eidren tried to force his grimace into a grin, but it just made him look even worse.

  Coolly, with cheeks dry, Enon took a puff and said, “Will ya quit cryin’, ya crybaby. Makin’ me nervous.”

  “Sure, Nonny. Sure.” He wiped the tears from his eyes, “I love you, bro.”

  “Love ya too, Eidren. Well, that’s that, then.”

  Gently, Eidren closed his brother’s eyelids.

  Report. Amefrid.

  Ser Serun is a ghost in the shell, reported Therys. Goddess Praise Ser Serun’s end.

  Goddess does praise Ser Serun’s end.

  Details. How did he die?

  Talisa used a well-trained sleight of hand to unbind the clasps of his carapace helm and strangled him to death.

  He couldn’t defend himself?

  It wasn’t a mere hold person, your highness, it was- I’ve never encountered psionics of this level, Princess, it was a Time Stop.

  Oh. Well, he was donezo then. If an elvan had no psionic ability at all, Time Stop was like being hit by a dragonlance. But-

  How did the Suicide Squad- the SUICIDE Squad, survive it?!

  It’s all scrambled for me even now, Princess, but- I believed the Conduit and the Commander formed a gestalt.

  Impossible. Only Amallarkean psions are capable of such power. Fear. Easily detectable even to her subordinate. But they couldn’t have, could they? What else were they capable of? Thank Goddess Mother they hadn’t gone rogue.

  I cannot think of any other explanation, Princess.

  “JHY - NIE! JHY - NIE! JHY - NIE!”

  Jhynie was lifted now by all the soldiers and the knights who had proven themselves beneath her, unworthy of the Goddess’s Praise, the only one worthy still living. Don’t forget about her now. She was the best, didn’t you know, elvan?

  “All praises be to the triumphant hunter! The assassin Jhynie Amallark!”

  Now she was swarmed too by praising workers, the cleanup crew, the ones who would pick up the bodies after the soldiers were done looting the gear, for bio-reprocessing, scavenging of spirits, recycling gryph-fibers and gryph-laced bones, and other gross stuff that gave the ick. They clearly did not want to get started on their jobs, so they procrastinated by reaching out to the blessed hunter Jhynie, fangurling out, screaming “Jhynie, you’re the best! Jhynie! Jhynie, I love you!”

  Jhynie pumped a fist and a tightly, cold fingered dead gripped bullpup railgun of Amallarkean plagiary and roared, “YAS, QUEEN!” Since it was Empress and not Queen, she was clearly referring to herself, and Maetra, who had been scrying the Whole. Fucking. Time, thought to herself- she’ll forgive that indiscretion.

  Because shit, she had bigger problems right now. That cunt Talisa. This bitch Vilithe. Maetra was so worried now that she could not help but think the basest and crudest, most guttural cusses. Because Amefrid still had no fucking clue. But if she just let Amefrid know, she couldn’t fucking learn, and the spoiled one needed to fucking learn.

  Fuck!

  Rogue Princess Vilithe Talauth-Callethe had now gotten her blessing from her mother-in-law, the Rogue Queen Talisa Talauth, and would soon start wondering how she and her fiancee, Eidren Talauth-Callethe, the Rogue Commander, Son of the First Soldier, Avenging Knight and Psionic Warrior, were going to confront the enormous task of riding Bahamut to Reath, killing her, and then stealing the Throne of the Traitor Empress, Maetra Amallark. Usurpers. They will die hideous deaths.

  The lesson would have to be learned another time.

  She would inform Amefrid, and hopefully the spoiled one could take the Simulacrum Technique from the vassal. And then she, the Goddess, would truly become immortal. Truly a God.

  And then they would destroy this Rogue Princess.

  Well, she had actually – maybe almost but not quite – killed another simulacrum earlier. But did that kill mean as much? What did it mean to kill a simulacrum? Was it the same as killing Talisa? …or just a copy of her?

  The golden rule. The golden ratio. The golden gurls? Talisa would introduce that one to Vilithe later, when they finally had time to binge watch something together. And that would not be for a while.

  The Massacre of Deuteronilus Mensae is what the Aryssal rogues would call it. The Triumph of Administrator Amefrid is what the Amallarkeans would call it.

  Oof, we know what’s coming don’t we. Shush, please.

  我想知道 流星能飛多久 , 它的美麗 是否 值得去尋求

  夜空的花 散落在你身後 , 幸福了我很久 值得去等候

  Which was also kind of gross, he had to admit.

  The spirits thought phew! That took some quick work, but wait- just so she could say that? It was in the footnotes!

  The Body Snatcher: The Ninth Simulacrum, or Talisa Ten. The one Vilithe bonded with. They also called her the ‘Parachute’, the ‘Understudy’, the ‘Backup Plan’, ‘The Yeerk’, and ‘Little Miss Agent Smith’.

  Cooldowns.

  Scryer, if you have not a romantic bone in your body, and do not believe in magic, and insist that there must be some sort of rational, magickal explanation here, well, fine, we suppose you could just say it was a delusion.

  Which was never mentioned until now, because Eidren didn’t want to mention it, because he didn’t want Enon to be embarrassed, and he himself was so embarrassed just to look at it. Like we said, don’t ask.

  He was stunned by her beauty and was so stoked that big bro was gonna get laid.

  Really on a whole different power level than any other unit to play on the chessboard. Who needs a king really? If he dies, you lose.

  Standard at this point for our heroes. No hyperbole.

  Much like Whynnetah, and unlike Eidren, he didn’t give a fuck about being a hero, he only cared about whether his shots sang true and landed where they were meant to. He wanted to be a winner. A killer. A slayer. Like his Mom. The Achiever. The best, don’tcha know? He might have even put Cool Hand Ani Oakley’s irons to the fire.

  Before they fell, that was indeed what they were called. The scourge of Clans Boucher and Amallark, equally despised by both Sidarael and Senjya.

  Just hallucinatory nicotine jitters really.

  Amefrid would miss the fool’s tongue.

  I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of dramatic irony by now, scryer.

  They would have to practically drag Eidren away from Enon and Talisa’s corpses, it took five of them, and all the while they were telepathing, listen, dude, we’re just trying to do our jobs, can you please just- nevermind. Let him have his moment. … Dude. Seriously. We have already let you have your moment!

  If even Enon could scry it, so too could the God Empress. It was Amefrid’s big date with destiny. Her chance to prove to mama that she has what it takes, and even though the God Empress could not pierce the Archon’s veil, she saw everything that happened after the veil burst. Even Talisa’s last ditch attempt to insert her simulacrum into Vilithe, and everything they discussed in their little heart to heart. While she might not be omniscient, she got damn close. So no. The Rogue Goddess did not have the advantage of surprise against the Real Goddess. Who thought- this solar system isn’t big enough for the both of us. And it’s not me who’s going to leave.

  Yes, she owned that title, she was proud of it, she was Qin Shi Huang, was there ever an Empress before she did it? She had to do it, for all elvankind- there was no choice.

  Cross the Void

  And From the Abyss

  Infernal Within

  And Lost Abound

  Above All Limits

  And Above All Transgressions

  The Fear of the Other

  And The Fate of Us