The Visitor watched, rainbowed multicolor light reflecting onto its face and into its many eyes, kaleidoscoping through the glass.
   “Glorious!" They said, outstretching their arms and laughing. “How quickly doth the Kosmurges¹

¹ The original term here is best transcribed in IPA as /ɒtsaljaʊmpɪza/, taking the AHC word for Demiurge, which can be broken down to “one who guides the local world,” and altering it such that it now means “one who carves the ocean.” A similar process has been done here, taking the “demi-” in “demiurge” and making it “kosm-” to replace the local prefix to apply to a larger area———a whole universe.

Complete their Growing!” They threw their head back and laughed, mirth seeping into the dismal air.
   Then—a quickening. A pause as they turned their head. Just as the life-less-and-ful bodies in the tanks beckoned some amount of recall to their past, so too did the empty desk before them—their assistant’s absence at the most crucial moment. Both set in motion a nascent amount of clarity and remembrance—the tanks, a birth of life, and the absence, a birth of betrayal. Of course! Their assistant, taking the first three letters of their title and doubling them, now in the palms of their enemies—an assassin.²

² The wordplay in the original AHC text is more eloquent——the words for ”one who assists” and “one who betrays” are exceedingly similar, with the latter being the former with a clause of “the enemy” tacked on to determine the traitor’s allegiance.

   They looked out the window of their cathedralaboratory³

³ This wordplay is once again better in the original text, as cathedral and laboratory contain the same initial phonemes, though laboratory has an extra two phonemes, with a simple dash between the shared and the non-shared phonemes making the pun clear.

and witnessed blinding, radiant light on the horizon refracted by it. The many teeth branching out from their hidden skull curled inward in a sneer—they were indeed correct, and yet their constant clarity was such a burden on their projects. A quick flick of their hand, the thralls called into motion, the tanks hidden.
   The Visitor stepped out of the space, facing the radiant light head-on without blinking—though a flinch, a wince, the tiniest imperfection formed on the corner of their cheek, a sliver of doubt and worry for the coming future, a lack of understanding of what could possibly follow—it formed.
   Before the Visitor stood the great and powerful Realm Goddess—but t’was not merely her, for yet still existing and shifting above the wuthering waves of the Ocean below were many of the other Demiurges—the Beast (for this was before it was con-sealed), I, Turn (yet dreaming, yet turning), the Throne (in all its seated, laureled glory), all of the Nine Centurions (freed from their spoked positions, here to Limit a different activity), Unity (with the Master and the Muse by her side, growing and sprouting like tumors with their blood awarded from their mother), the Exolvunt (tree growing, merely a sapling at this time), and even the Tetragrammaton (despite its continuous t-rifle and combat with the Throne).⁴

⁴ In the original text, two words are combined in the Beast’s parenthetical to show the idea of both the form of the Beast and the history/truth/knowledge of it being locked away in its Vault. “Con-sealed” was used as a replacement.
   “Seated, laureled glory” is used in the Throne’s parenthetical in place of the original phrasing, which used a word with no practical equivalent in English——one that essentially described someone who had won some championship and then was resting in pride of all that they had accomplished.
   “T-rifle” is used as wordplay in the Tetragrammaton’s parenthetical, as the original wording used a combination of words to draw to mind both conflict as well as an instrument that could be used to fight war (in the original context, this weapon was essentially a laser cannon, similar to the holy beams that the Throne is capable of firing and the laser blasts that the First Name of the Tetragrammaton is capable of firing.)

Truth, of course, was absent, even moss refusing to grow on its marbled shell, so as not to disturb its pure focus.
   “So,” the Realm Goddess spoke, sneering so hard that her lip curled back and touched her teeth, her canines stained with the red from the former, as though prophetic and understanding of the blood that would soon seep into the conflict.
   “So!” The Visitor spoke, boisterous and proud, parts of them hoping that none would see through their veil⁵

⁵ The original phrasing uses a word that means both disguise and cloak. Later on, the Visitor’s robes are described with the same word (though the different context makes it necessary to translate it differently). A comparison can quite easily be drawn.

—but the doomed are never so lucky. And yet, they still outstretched their arms as though expecting some motherly embrace. “O, Ye Demiurges, might I Ask what Matters have Come to Your Attentions such that a Visit might be Placed upon The Visitor?”
   “Speak not in fanciful tones,” the Realm Goddess snarled, “you know simply why we have come.”
   “Why? Dost Ye Expect some Anger, Malice, or Hatred from Out this Mouth o’ Mine? Come, Ye Know that a Liege knows not t’Defy its Lords,” The Visitor said, tilting their head as though confused.
   “Silence!” She barked, spilling out globules of vitriol as she spoke with such fervor. “You know simply why we have come! Your defiance will not go unpunished.”
   The Visitor placed their hand across their face, hiding all but one of their eyes—though with such a large, infectious, and maladious grin, t’was not hard to see their glee for what was to come behind their tactilities. “Go, then! Cease this Defiance Mine!”
   The Tetragrammaton spoke, then, with the words it always did whenever it spoke the same tongue as the masses, rather than in the language it was composed of, and it said: “DROWN.”
   It was then that it leapt into action, a chorus behind it, cutting quickly with tendrils of iconographic tendons and flesh, so sharp to cleave through the paper on which these words are written, and hot enough to burn the memory of these events ever transpiring. Swift and instant, it lashed out, but was stopped by some sigil in the air, as though the cathedral itself had a will and bent its subliminal structure to reach out and defend them who had archi-pro-tected it.
   “‘Tis Right!” The Visitor cackled, pride bubbling and boiling. “Thou art Incapable of Bringing Damage to this Shell Mine! For as Long as this Cathedralaboratory Mine is to Stand Tall, I shall NOT be Brought Harm!”
   Pride goeth before the fall.
   “Then sink, and go empty into the night,” the Throne said in dulcet tones to the church, and it bent and crushed itself under the pressure and expectation. The stones rent themselves from their positions, and the roof collapsed.
   “Aha...” The Visitor trailed with its laugh. “Faith will Triumph over any Reality, then? Aheh.”
   “Insolent wretch!” The Realm Goddess hissed, and she lunged, clawing with her judgèd arm⁶

⁶ The term that “judgèd” replaces essentially equates to both delivering judgement and being judged.

at the Visitor below.
   “Not so Hastily will I be Expunged!” The Visitor said with a guffaw as they leapt backward, the hand of a god coming down just before them, nearly missing them as their cloak billowed in the wind—and not a Scratch on this Shell Mine! Wondrous! They did not stay focused on what they had avoided for long, as they focused their mind to a new horizon, pressing the side of their hand to the center of their face, arching two fingers forwards and backwards with each respective direction, and they spoke the divine word: “Cut.”
   Blood splattered across the air, arcs of liquid contrasting the arches of the doorway, reams and splashes of blood suspending themselves in the air for one blissful moment as each Demiurge lunged for the Visitor, missing with each strike they attempted to land—but the blood came not from them, nor any of their attackers but one, for cleaving through bone was the will of the Visitor, the heralded royal motion, a perfect strike cleanly through the hand of the Realm Goddess.
   The space was still for a moment as the Demiurges looked on at the Goddess in horror as she did the same—the only sounds the soft landing of the Visitor returning to a standing state after deftly avoiding each attack, then the sloughing of flesh off of the Realm Goddess, and the landing of her severed hand in the Ocean so far below.
   The Realm Goddess held the stump of her arm, bleeding and splashing, to her face, her lower jaw trembling, grief and rage filling her to the brim. Her eyes focused past her arm to where the Visitor stood, hands outstretched as though bowing at the end of some theatrical maneuver.
   “Ta-da!” They said.
   The first to spark the action once more was the Realm Goddess, who lunged with her remaining hands to grab the Visitor. With a laugh of exasperation, they dodged, flinging knives from their inner cloaked pockets, stabbing and pelting their enemy like the ant harms the giant. Next to strike was the Tetragrammaton, calling and beckoning in some incomprehensible vocalizations as the Third Name broke off for but a moment, swords and blades firing like bees swarm the enemies of the hive, though the Visitor was smarter than the child who throws stones and leapt between the hilts of the swords, kicking them back towards the Tetragrammaton—a smooth maneuver despite the Tetragrammaton’s similarly liquid evasion.
   The Throne followed suit, beams of holy light and radiant spears thrown toward the Visitor, their golden peaks shimmering like impossible mountains, though the Visitor has never been one to fail a scaling, opening a seam to funnel the spears toward I, Turn, who seemed to be leaving the fight, so as to direct the panopticonic attention of the Demiurges elsewhere. The Beast, too, seemed wary of engaging in the fight, seeking to circle around the fight, giant claws and hooves splashing and wading through the water below as they surveyed the conflict.
   The Nine Centurions began slowing their gears, preparing to eradicate the Visitor (it had always been on their nerves, and they were wholly prepared to apply boundaries of concrete on its behavior), but the Realm Goddess pushed them each aside with another lunge. Unity, too, was pushed back by the Realm Goddess, who spoke with such terrifying rage, malice dripping from her voice, the Master and the Muse retreating with their mother.
   “Back,” she growled. “I will dispose of this thing.”
   The Demiurges retreated, none quite so eager to incur her wrath, though the ones who had already struck stepped back with hesitance, their lack of desire to engage in a fight with the Realm Goddess barely superseding their desire to cut down the Visitor. The Realm Goddess, now lonesome on the battlefield, faced the Visitor with no apprehension, no preservation, nothing in her eyes but the desire to cut true—pure violence.
   “Good,” the Visitor said, laughing wholeheartedly.. “Let Us Engage in True Combat!”
   Pride goeth before the fall.
   A punch from one of the Realm Goddess’s remaining six arms slammed into the Visitor, sending them flying back through the brick wall behind them, shrapnel from the burst of energy cutting through the Visitor’s flesh and through their garments. A slice from one of the crowns of the Realm Goddess cut through the Visitor’s throat, leaving a deep gash though not properly creating a severance—a panic flooded the Visitor in the flash before them, flying through the air, floating, floating...
   Then, a hearty slam, and a ringing through the skull as that of the Visitor’s connected to the floor, rubble flying toward the glass tanks, and though not even partially threatening to shatter that impermeable membrane, the Visitor’s skeletals were not so lucky. Sickening crunches coursed through their body with each breath they took and each movement they made.
   But with a shaky hand, as they laid on the floor with blood seeping from their neck—their face, their beautiful face then so marred by destruction, eyes gouged by stray rocks and limbs severed by crimson crowns unseen—they raised their palm perpendicular to the center of their oh-so-damaged face.
   “Kh–” They choked out breathily, the Realm Goddess looming over and pulling back a hand to crush, crescent eye shining as it determined the Visitor’s fate, “kh...” The hand was falling, threatening to fall, and the Visitor would be no more—
   “Cut,” the Visitor said, and the Realm Goddess shrieked in pain as she reeled back in shock.
   “MMMMY EYE!” She screamed, frequent and resonant with the Visitor’s chest. “WH– WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME? YOU... FFFFFUCKING BITCH!!!”
   She clutched her face, blood pouring from the socket on the rightmost side of her face—
   Strings of flesh hung, her eye ever watchful, clinging on for dear life—
   The Visitor spoke, blood filling their mouth as they couldn’t help but laugh—
   “Sever,” they said, and the eye’s last connection was removed, and it plunged deep into the aquamarine tides below, joining its untethered comrade.
   “You...” The Realm Goddess wept, and her cries mixed with laughter for the immeasurable violence she believed she would soon cause, and with grunts like an animal preparing to latch its teeth onto some unsuspectingly viable prey. “You’ll—”
   And as the Realm Goddess raised her fists and her crowns with intent to kill, decimate, destroy, the Visitor closed what remained of their eyes, and prayed.
   And the Ocean answered.
   Shining and golden like the barbed halo of the Throne, Crowns, not unlike the very ones that beat the Visitor so badly, sprouted behind the Visitor’s head.
   “The Ocean has made its decree,” the Centurions spoke, which they were not often wont to do, “and no Demiurge shall harm one with Crowns of Defiance.”
   “What?” The Realm Goddess turned sharply, with piercing eyes (though one missing, the Visitor noted with beaming pride as the life left their body) and a vigilant gaze.
   “I...” The Visitor choked out, spurts of blood spewing from their mouth in coughs, as the corners of the latter curled into a grin. “I won!” And they looked toward the sky and laughed, mirth seeping into the dismal air.