They reach the platform at the end and find a shell there made up of the detritus of worlds, and breaking through that, they find something strange. Here, in this place filled with shallow reality, the Legion's universe has been stretched and narrowed down to its thinnest, most basic form.
And so the space here looks like the emptiness between comic panels, and all of them have taken on a strange appearance, almost but not quite two-dimensional, their colors bright and popping between dark outlines. All of them look like this because even the displacees were made to fit into the Legion's dimension, made a part of it, given powers to make them fit the narrative.
The native Legionnaires look slightly more comic-ey than the rest of them. The displacees were made to fit, but they were etched into existence here, stroke by stroke.
While consuming this universe, Chronoblivion has reshaped itself to fit, too. But where the Legionnaires are all orderly lines and inked colors, It's something else. It looks like a face, floating there in that whitespace, made of inkblots. Fresh ink drips from the face's lips like blood, splattering as It talks.
Hate.
It breathes the word and it creates a foul wind that rushes over them.
Always outside. Hate the inside-things. Little lights. Blink blink. Snuff you out.
There is a cloud of jealousy in the air, almost tangible. It hates them because they get to live inside existence, where it can never go, and so it consumes existence, and kills all the little living things It's so jealous of.
Like a child who wants a toy that doesn't belong to them breaking it so no one can have it at all.
Hate.
There is no reasoning with this creature. It's not as if It doesn't have the capacity for mercy or empathy, It just ignores it. It chooses hate, and so hate is etched into every inch of Its massive being, written into the folds of every pocket dimension, spelled out in the little lights of every atom with its subatomic particles.
THE END OF THE LINE
And so the space here looks like the emptiness between comic panels, and all of them have taken on a strange appearance, almost but not quite two-dimensional, their colors bright and popping between dark outlines. All of them look like this because even the displacees were made to fit into the Legion's dimension, made a part of it, given powers to make them fit the narrative.
The native Legionnaires look slightly more comic-ey than the rest of them. The displacees were made to fit, but they were etched into existence here, stroke by stroke.
While consuming this universe, Chronoblivion has reshaped itself to fit, too. But where the Legionnaires are all orderly lines and inked colors, It's something else. It looks like a face, floating there in that whitespace, made of inkblots. Fresh ink drips from the face's lips like blood, splattering as It talks.
It breathes the word and it creates a foul wind that rushes over them.
Always outside. Hate the inside-things. Little lights. Blink blink. Snuff you out.
There is a cloud of jealousy in the air, almost tangible. It hates them because they get to live inside existence, where it can never go, and so it consumes existence, and kills all the little living things It's so jealous of.
Like a child who wants a toy that doesn't belong to them breaking it so no one can have it at all.
Hate.
There is no reasoning with this creature. It's not as if It doesn't have the capacity for mercy or empathy, It just ignores it. It chooses hate, and so hate is etched into every inch of Its massive being, written into the folds of every pocket dimension, spelled out in the little lights of every atom with its subatomic particles.