"Well, she's sad, she's sad." She's sad, she's sad. "Huh," he said, "I'm Sarah."
A low, monotonous chant echoed in the dim room. Its origin is that of a precise forty-two figures gathered around a central altar, arranged in a very specific pattern. Each of them wore a deep red robe, reminiscent of fine wine, with gold embroidery on the sleeves, shoulders and neck. Each long hood has the same symbol - three vertical triangular eyes. It's all very evil and ominous, and one wouldn't be blamed for thinking it's some kind of cult.
"Well, she's sad, she's sad." She's sad, she's sad. "Huh," he said, "I'm Sarah."
Of course, such hasty judgment is unwise. There are a variety of cultures and races in the galaxy, and it's common for people to interpret alien customs as some kind of sinister conspiracy. One of the more egregious examples of this misconception is the Golgory. When explorers from the Confederate Government first encountered these serpentine humanoids in the Jake-13 system, they witnessed a group of Gorgorians carving out and eating their own hearts. What initially appears to be a form of ritual suicide turns out to be a wedding and not at all as deadly as it first appears. Since then, the entire galaxy has learned to be more tolerant and understanding of alien cultures. In fact, just because a group of hooded men are chanting around an altar doesn't necessarily mean they're a cult trying to summon ancient cosmic evil.
"Well, she's sad, she's sad." She's sad, she's sad. "Huh," he said, "I'm Sarah."
In this particular case, though, that's certainly the case. The Star Gazing Cult is made up of the dregs of society who join such organizations - the desperate, the insane, the easily manipulated, the dangerously stupid. This group of idlers agree that the best way to leave their mark on the vast and uncaring universe they live in is to end it. To achieve this goal, they attempted to summon the Watcher Magrathrak, an unknown third-level cosmic entity. Granted, few people understand what "Level 3" actually means, but considering that this sort of thing usually goes from Level 1 to Level 5, we can safely assume that Malaslak is mid-level. At least, that's the case for those terrifying creatures from outside reality.
"Well, she's sad, she's sad." She's sad, she's sad. "Huh," he said, "I'm Sarah."
As for how exactly the Cult of the Gazing Star plans to lure Malathlak to their realm, it appears to be using the time-tested method of human sacrifice. The sacrifice he mentioned was a young male human of unspectacular blood. He looks to be in his early twenties, has brown hair, brown eyes, is skinny and out of shape, which is completely normal. The last one is visible as the guy is stripped naked and tied with some uncomfortable chains to a stone altar in the center of the room. Interestingly, he doesn't seem fazed by his predicament. He glanced around the room with a look of confusion that suggested he belonged to the fourth category of people who usually attend cults.
"Well, she's sad, she's sad." She's sad, she's sad. "Huh," he said, "I'm Sarah."
As the ceremony progressed, the ancient runes carved on the stone altar began to glow dark red. The victim couldn't see this, but he did feel the rock he was lying on slowly heating his back and buttocks. His blank expression instantly changed to indicate that the feeling wasn't that bad. This was certainly more welcome than the cold, if nothing else. If the rapidly approaching gunfire was any indication, he wasn't the only one getting heated.
"Well, she's sad, she's sad." She's sad, she's sad. "Huh," he said, "I'm Sarah."
To their credit, these devotees continued their chants without skipping a beat. They were certain that their defenses would either repel the interlopers or at least delay them long enough for the ritual to be completed. Soon it became apparent that their confidence in their brothers and the factory's automated security system was, as usual, misplaced. Elite military commandos who learned of the cult's plans broke out of the sinister lair in less than three minutes. The only reason they didn't rush into the ritual room and ventilate everyone's heads was that there was a giant airtight bulkhead blocking their way.
"Well, she's sad, she's sad." She's sad, she's sad. "Huh," he said, "I'm Sarah."
Of course, it will take more than a few metal doors to stop these stubborn soldiers. They began chipping away at the bulkhead within seconds of reaching it. Unfortunately, the basic handheld plasma cutter they had was nowhere near adequate for the task. The doors are thick and heavy, so it would take a long time to get through using traditional methods. Thankfully, the commandos still have an ace up their sleeves. The team's psychic agent stepped forward, throwing all her considerable telekinesis powers at the barricade.
*clang*
A fist-shaped lump the size of a watermelon suddenly appeared on the inside of the bulkhead. At this point, the cult finally realizes how deep in shit they are. She needed seconds before she could unleash another explosion, and those doors looked like they could only take three or four more hits before they collapsed. In other words, devotees have only half a minute to complete their rituals. The person in charge of the ceremony shrugged, rolled his eyes, as if to say there was nothing he could do, and then continued with the final step of the ceremony.
*clang*
The leader nodded to one of them, prompting the subordinate to press the switch next to him. The strange machine at the base of the giant stone altar crackled to life. Four robotic arms extend from each corner of the bed-like shrine. Each robot appendage has a brick-like laser emitter with a tiny exit port on their smallest side. They were pointed upwards and then joined together so that the four beams of purple energy were focused somewhere above the hapless captive's belly. These streams merge into a slowly growing ball of light that emits tiny arcs and sparks as it gathers energy.
*clang*
The Head Priest walked over to the bound sacrifice and took out a strange object from his robe. It was an obsidian dagger with a strangely curved blade, like a crescent moon, and a series of winding runes engraved on the blade. The Head Priest grasped the mysterious instrument tightly with one hand, brought it to his lips, and murmured forbidden words into it. The circled signs glowed with a familiar red light, and the chained victim looked on with a confused concern that suggested he wasn't fully aware of where the situation was headed.
"O wise and all-knowing Maraslak! We, your faithful servants, beseech you to hear our humble pleas!"
*clang*
The master of ceremonies spoke in a clear, crisp voice, and even when a fourth fist-shaped dent appeared on the bulkhead, his voice did not waver at all. It was obvious that he had rehearsed well for this big moment.
"Join us now in our moment of revelation," he continued. "Accept this meager blood sacrifice! Share your terrible glory with us so that we may spread it throughout the universe!"
The man took the dagger back and stabbed it without hesitation, straight into the heart of the tied sacrifice.
*THUNKRRANK*
Thanks to this foolish suggestion, the bulkhead collapses under the attack of telekinesis in a spectacular spectacle. The broken piece of metal was ripped from the socket and thrown across the room. It shattered his head into soup before the leader could deliver the final blow, also interrupting the converging laser beam, causing the energy ball to fade away. It then squashed several low-level cultists before crashing into the far wall and coming to a stop. In the next instant the commandos rushed through the newly opened opening, entered the chamber, and shot the unarmed and unarmored infidels with extreme prejudice. In the first three seconds of automatic fire, they successfully killed all more than 40 suspects, which is a testament to the soldiers' marksmanship.
The ten-man unit stopped firing and fell silent as they scanned the room for more threats.
"clear!"
"clear".
"clear".
Some of them loudly stated that they found no additional targets. Only then did the team members finally allow themselves to release the tension within them. They fist-bumped, high-fived, high-fived and briefly congratulated each other on a job well done. The only one not participating in the festivities was Agent Johnson, the team's psychological agent. She would have loved to participate, but was busy vomiting in the corner. It wasn't the sight of blood or the suspiciously giant burrito she had for lunch that made her sick.
"Are you okay, AJ?" One of her comrades came over to check on her.
"Yes. I'll be fine," she reassured him. "It's just overloaded, you know."
Breaking through this wall put a huge amount of stress on her nervous system, and her body wasn't quite sure how to handle it. So-called psychic overload can manifest in many unpleasant ways, and expulsion of stomach contents is a common one. Agent Johnson was just secretly grateful that her meal didn't pass out the other end of her digestive tract.
"I don't know, AJ, I've never seen you this bad," her worried colleague pressed. "You are very pale and still shaking."
"No, really, this will pass," she insisted. "That door is heavy, that's all."
It usually takes her anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours to fully recover from the overload, depending on the severity of the overload. At least some symptoms go away much faster than others. For example, Agent Johnson's severe headaches usually subsided after a few breaths. However, as time passed, the situation did not improve. Quite the opposite actually. It gradually became more and more severe, so much so that the woman couldn't help but grab her forehead and frown in pain.
It was only then that she realized the source of her headaches wasn't internal. She turned wildly toward the center of the room. That door-spinning projectile wiped out that head-worshipper, but in the worst way possible. The impact both covered the man's dagger with blood and knocked it from his hand. The obsidian weapon landed on the stone altar, right between the legs of the miraculously alive hostage.
Agent Johnson knows something about the occult. It's impossible not to learn a thing or two in her line of work. While she was no expert, her experience told her that whatever cosmic entity this cult was trying to contact would interpret the above sequence of events as a suitable sacrifice. This unfortunate conclusion arises from a series of implications. The first was her rapidly worsening headache. The second thing was that the runes on the blade and altar continued to glow in the blood. The third and most conclusive piece of evidence was a small object of pure darkness the size of a golf ball, leisurely hovering in the sky, right where the ball of energy was.
"Go away!"
The elf shouted a warning to her companions, but it was too late. The small empty ball exploded into a writhing mass of shadow and let out a thrilling scream. The soldiers, stunned by the indescribable sound, dispersed from the source of the commotion. They aimed their weapons at it, watching with growing horror as a completely alien being beyond their comprehension slowly passed through the veil of their universe. They stared into the emotional void, and it stared back at them. Eyes of all shapes and sizes emerge from the invisible mass of this mysterious entity as it scans every molecule around it.
“M-Majo
?one of them shouted. "Do we start blasting or what?"
"Your. Fire." the officer ordered slowly. "Whatever you do, don't fight!"
This is the right decision. The Major felt an intrusive mental pressure from the creature's multifaceted gaze, which told him that he was facing a third-level cosmic entity. It's just that bullets are completely ineffective against it. One would need either powerful psychic powers or heavy weaponry to drive these creatures back into the nightmare they crawled out of. However, Agent Johnson barely resisted the urge to pass out, and the team used up most of the explosives on the way in. In short, if the commandos were to engage this entity in a contest of force, they would be hopelessly disadvantaged. By rights, they should have retreated, but operational protocols required them to learn the name of the threat and, if possible, identify its motives. This information is critical in order to develop a viable plan of action that will enable the nerds on base to develop a viable containment strategy.
“S̝̫͉̯̲u͈̪͚̱b̗̗̗̜̺̬͠ͅm̶̤̝͙ḭ̢̱̭̻t̩̲̥,̛̫̠̩͚͚̗̦ͅm͈̖͚͚o̙̭͎̙̤
t̥͚͎̝一̪̝͍̱̩̹l̖ṣ̳̺̫̤̱. "
They couldn't hear a strange whisper, but they felt that words seemed to emerge from the deepest parts of the soldiers' hearts.
“M̸̞͇̻͙̭͈͉一̭̣̫̖͙͈͚g̤͇̠͠ͅh̙̣̙̪͠” ͈̮̟̰͈
͖͇̪一͍̺̫̳͉̩t͙͖̜͢hщ̬̠̭̲̜l̸̛ķ̖͓̠͙͓̯d̜̰̥̲͔e̷̗͔̙M̗̟̼̩̟̤͚一̰͓̳̥̼
EPS
̵͔̱o̱̲͚͔͔͜ḅ̼̪̰͔̖e̖͈͡d̩ḭ̫̗̣̜ͅe̷̹̣͕̙͍
̘͎tщ̞̩͍̤͉̼̠ͅs̰̯̯̹̺͚͜e̜̺̺̥͖͚͜
͖͠v̵͙̞i̷̳̩̫͖̼̞͎c̤̣̤̠̜͔e͏̝. "
"Big?!" shouted the soldier.
"Okay, let's start blasting!"
After securing the bare minimum required by the contract, the officer prodded his team to unload the Dark and Eye with everything they had. The small arms fire isn't enough to force it back through the portal, but it can delay it long enough for the commandos to retreat. Or at least that's what the soldiers thought until they found their bullets reflected instantly back at them with as much accuracy as their own bullets. Their helmets and body armor absorbed most of the energy, allowing them to escape the ceremony room with only minor injuries and no casualties. Once through the breached door, they blasted the hallway with their last few bombs, trying to buy themselves more time before the thing caught up.
Thankfully, Maraslak had no desire to pursue them. The entity had seen them all and was not impressed. The woman with the "gift" was kind of interesting, but there was someone even stranger in that room. Malaslak's countless eyes fell on the specimen still tied to the altar. There was nothing special about his body, and his intelligence seemed... average. Yet this humble mortal somehow managed to withstand all the events that happened around him without feeling the slightest hint of fear.
“Y̨͚̥̬o̺̝̝͠u̦͍͍. ̘̞̭̰̯̠͉͚͉̣͠T̢̟͓͔̥ͅhe ̶͎̙̪̺͎͇̞̰o̖̲̰͍̟̼
͈e͍͈͎̥ͅc̪͔͔̲一̝̻̩͔l͕̝͚̮͇̹̗̕l͖̥e̲̹͓̯̮d̞̞̻̻̝̝̙̳J͏͖o̻͚͔̮é̝̹̮̣̬̞͚̻̬̤͈͔M͎ ̘̤̭̦ul̯̕l̷͙i̺̰̫̼g͉̼̠一̱͢
̙̦̰͉. ͎̲̹̜̥͘”
"Oh, Hello."
Joe's reaction was a little surprised, but otherwise calm, as he stared up at the darkness billowing above him. He even waved slightly, but the shackles around his wrists made it difficult to do so.
"Are you a matchmaker?" he asked hopefully.
“…my job is: my job is: my job is: my job is: my job is: my job is: my job is: my job is: ̞̜”
"You know. The matchmaker. The one who can make my dream of finding a girlfriend come true?"
Maraslak was speechless for a moment, something that hadn't happened in a long time. What made him hesitate was that there was no hint of ridicule or deception in this mortal's words.
“W̰h̞͎e̪̭
EPS ̣̟̩̠u͙͟t̵͔͇̥ͅh͍͙̠̻̙i ̗̫̱͚̜̗̱ṋk̸̼̫̳̻͖̰̪͉̫y̨̦o̠͝u̡͚̭̭͇̘
̗̺͓̟̭͚͟ḙ͚̜̞̩͙͕, ͙͇̥͎̮̞̥̬͚͟J̞̳̤ͅǫé̮̦̞M̪͙̥̼̥͘ul̰͎̬̺̟l̺͍̳i ͇͙͇̭̖̞g͉͠ ̜̗ ͓̻ṇ̢̝̞͕̭̣̭?̳”
"Ah," the man winced. "Listen, before we go on, can you turn the special effects down?" At first, it was all impressive, but now, look, it's just a little annoying. "
The Observer considered this humble request. It wondered how this strange man could be blissfully unaware of the horrific events happening around him. One option is to stare directly into and dissect his thoughts, but mortal minds are fragile and prone to shattering before anything useful can be gleaned from them. Milder, more subtle methods of psychological manipulation can be used, but conversation requires much less time and effort. Therefore, Magh'
Athlak decided to accommodate this little creature. One of its large eyes is slit like a mouth with a row of needle-like teeth.
"Very well, Joe Mulligan." Its deep voice echoed in the room. "I agree to your terms."
"Oh, that's much better. The acoustics are pretty good here too. No wonder the show sounds so good."
"What show are you referring to, Joe Mulligan?"
"You know, that special event those guys just did? Isn't it to help desperate singles find true love or something?"
"You're wrong, Joe Mulligan. This is the place where a cult holds its rituals, and they wish to call me into this reality. I hear their call - hasty and wrong though it may be - and respond It ended. The soldiers you must have seen tried to prevent my arrival by force, but failed, which led to the current situation."
"Oh. That explains a lot. You know, I don't want to judge these guys because they're wearing robes and singing carols and everything, but I guess sometimes things are just what they seem, right?
"Are you just now realizing the truth about your surroundings?"
"Yeah. Looking back now, it's obvious. I guess I quite enjoyed being the center of attention. It's not nice being naked, but what can you do, huh?"
"How did you do this?" the god-like entity demanded.
"Well, I'd say it's because I'm not a smart guy. I just looked at the brochure they gave me and followed what they said."
"You gave your life to them so easily?"
"I'm kind of stupid for saying that. But, their boss is a pretty solid, trustworthy guy. At least that's what it seems like. He said he had a surefire way to get me a girlfriend, and I was like, okay , let’s just do it, you know?”
"You mean the guy whose brain matter is now in your hair?"
"Uh, EW. Is this real? Actually, yes, if the cult thing is real, it is. I'm into you, know what I mean? But if their show isn't great , then it’s my fault. They coordinated well even without any music playing.”
"We can agree on that. Their silly attempt to draw me out is pretty funny."
Gross incompetence can often be as revealing as flawless execution, at least in Mahrak's mind.
"So..." Joe hesitated. "I guess I can't find a girlfriend?"
"Hmm. Maybe that can be arranged, Joe Mulligan. While your captors may have deceived you to some extent, my ability to do you favors is not a fabrication."
"Really? So, you get wishes granted or something?"
"Indeed. Your reality is mine, and I can twist it into whatever shape I want. Whatever pitiful desires you have, it's trivial to satisfy them. And that includes your obvious need for companionship."
"Great! Well, is that okay? I don't want to impose on you. You seem like a busy and/or important person and I don't want to cross a line here."
"Don't worry, Joe Mulligan, this is not a whim, it's an obligation."
Magh'
The ritual by which the athlak was brought into this reality has not yet been completed. The occult entity still needs to complete a task requested by its summoner for its entire existence. Until then, it cannot move from the point above the altar. However, the only thing nearby that still carried the burden of consciousness was the stranger it was talking to. Therefore, the responsibility of the summoner fell on him.
"Look, that's great, but can you drop the last name and just call me Joe?"
The unfathomable being did not fail to seize the opportunity.
"Of course, Joe!"
With these two words, the already distorted space around Maraslak was completely shattered. Rolling shadows surged from the gaping wound like light-eating smoke, enveloping the room. Moments later, the stupid idiot who unleashed this horror on the universe found himself surrounded by a swarm of eyes swimming in a dark ocean.
"Ah, gay. That's my wish, isn't it?"
"It must be so, Joe."
Granted, the Observer has agreed to speak with him verbally, but that was more of a suggestion than a request.
"Oh, well, it's me and my big mouth again," the man rolled his eyes. "Well, as the saying goes, what's easy come easy goes. Anyway, if we're almost done, could you please take these off so I can go home? My soap is almost done."
"You still speak so casually towards me. Don't you realize the great danger you face, mortal?"
"Oh, no, I get it. I mean, I might not be that smart, but I'm not that stupid either. I just feel like you're either going to let me go or something terrible happens, and I don't care either way. "
"Once again your words lack the flavor of deceit and the sound of logic. Why don't you resent me, Watcher Maraslak, for putting you at my mercy?"
It seems that this extra-dimensional creature has nothing particularly nasty in store for this unfortunate body. It was just used to these people running away in fear, just like that group of soldiers, so this man's abnormal behavior was a complete mystery. If there's one thing that Maraslak admires most, it's mystery.
"Well, that's it. It's not because of you that I ended up like this, right?" Joe shrugged. "It's my own fault and let me tell you, I'm writing a scathing letter to myself as we speak. Plus, what happened next was completely out of my control, so I feel like there's no You have to be nervous about it.”
"Curious. That's strange, Joe. You interest me because I've never met anyone like you. Maybe we can work out an arrangement that would be beneficial to both parties."
"Ah, look, now you have me worried." He laughed nervously. "I'm not very good at making decisions, in case you couldn't tell."
"Don't worry, Joe, I'm sure the terms I'm about to propose will be to your liking."
"Okay, then. I'm all ears."
"...how did you come to be made entirely of hearing organs?"
"No, it's just an expression—a figure of speech. It means I'm ready to listen carefully to what you have to say."
"I understand."
Countless eyes flashed with light blue light. In an instant, Malatrak recorded these seemingly insignificant knowledge into its vast memory, and then returned to the topic at hand.
"I vow to unite myself with you so that I can protect and nurture your fragile life to the best of my ability. In return, you will serve as my guide and anchor in this reality so that I can detail Study it and all it has to offer.”
"Uh...so, do you want to be friends?"
"That's possible if you want."
"Riiiight. That's a weird way of putting it, but it works for me. And in return, all I have to do is show you around and teach you a few things?"
"Essentially, yes."
"Do you really need me to do this?" You look much smarter than me. "
This is absolutely true, with one exception. As a native, you have a better grasp of reality than I do. "
"I think that's indisputable. I want to ask clearly, you are not trying to make my universe disappear, are you?"
After all, he does live there, and he prefers his home to be clean.
"That's exactly what this pact is designed to avoid, Joe. I have a keen interest in the inner workings of this dimension, but my past research into it has been... misguided. Your minds and your questions are too fragile , cannot withstand my usual in-depth investigation. If I want to learn the secrets of this space without destroying it, I need your help to make sure I use the appropriate amount of subtlety."
"Well, now! It sure sounds good if I do say so myself. The thing is, don't get me wrong, but you're a little too, uh, you. I know you're more reasonable and affable than you look, but that's just My thoughts. People on the street - not me - would probably freak out if they saw this, you know." He pointed at himself as often as he could.
"Joe, there is wisdom in your words that belies their simplicity. These concerns are valid, but of little consequence. As long as you agree to be my anchor, building a physical ship capable of carrying the vastness of my life will be A trivial thing.”
"Uh...I'm afraid I didn't understand." Can you rephrase that?"
The cosmic entity paused for a moment as it worked out a more pleasant way to express its intentions.
"I can make myself look human."
Admittedly, Maraslak had never done this before, but it was certainly within his power. The only concern is that whatever shape it takes to inhabit must be pleasant and not alarming, but it's not quite sure what that requires. After all, its aesthetic is as different from humans as comparing Tuesday to orange. Fortunately, extracting something suitable from Joe's subconscious mind is a simple matter with little risk of driving him irrevocably crazy. It is used with Magh'
The same subtle technology as Ahlak's Psychic Lie Detector, and after being exposed to it, this person seemed to be working very well.
"Of course that's convenient." He nodded. "If you can do that, then I see no reason to say no."
In fact, there are approximately 27 reasons to reject the Observer's proposal. Even Joe, if he thought more carefully, would have discovered there were at least five of them, but he was in a hurry. As mentioned, his soap operas are almost all on and he can't miss those. Especially the one called "First Love". "This upcoming episode will reveal whether the heroine will marry the evil spice tycoon in order to save her true love from prison, and Joe is desperate to miss the opportunity."
"So you agree to the terms I proposed?" Magh'
ahlak asked for confirmation.
"Indeed, I know."
"That's the end of the deal."
Hearing these words, even the air trembled.
"Wait, that's it?" Joe shouted. "Don't I need to sign the contract with my blood?"
"These methods are unnecessary. Your consent is sufficiently binding."
"Oh. That's a little disappointing."
"...Do you want me to prepare a contract for you signed in blood?" The Buddha'
provided by athlak.
"If it's not too much trouble."
A rather sinister piece of parchment emerged from the thin air and floated in front of Joe. The rather brief and ambitious terms proposed by the Observer were written in a strange red ink that shone ominously.
"Ha. Now we're talking." He grinned. "Mind moving it to my right hand?" These handcuffs are in the way and out of reach. Where did they get the handcuffs? I remembered, maybe the "Dungeon Arcade" catalog. "
After a few petty requests and some mild verbal detours, Joe managed to sign on the dotted line with his own blood.
"That's great," he kept smiling. "Now I have a souvenir to take home and show the boys. Thank you very much."
"You don't need to be grateful. Now I'm going to start the binding ceremony."
The curtain of darkness and eyes began to pull back, revealing once again the bare metal wards of the ritual room. This strange entity converged invisibly to a point on the ceiling, like a giant blob of crude oil. It allowed itself to succumb to gravity and fell on the still-bound man, splashing over him and shrouding him in darkness. Moments later, as his vision returned, he felt something heavy and warm pressing against his abdomen. He glanced towards it and saw something he didn't expect.
Sitting on his belly was a human girl who looked almost exactly like the character he had just imagined. Her face was stunningly beautiful, with graceful curves and a well-proportioned body. However, some things reveal the true nature hidden beneath the soft flesh. Her long, straight black hair seemed to be alive, swaying and curling. Her irises were swirls of darkness, seemingly portals to the unspeakable void from which she came. Her skin was very pale and felt strange to the touch. Not bad or unpleasant, just...weird.
Joe had plenty of opportunity to take stock of this special sensation, since she was as naked as he was. Some part of him couldn't help but react to the feeling of her naked ass pressing against his stomach and the sight of her impressive breasts and exposed pale pink nipples. Thankfully, the girl-looking thing didn't notice the muscles pressing into her back. Or she doesn't mind. Or is she angry about it? It's hard to tell because the expression on her face is hard to read. It was characterized by a light-year unblinking gaze and the tiniest smile in the universe, neither of which moved as she spoke.
"It's strange. This thing is called flesh. I believe I will get used to it gradually."
Her voice was surprisingly soft, perfectly suited to her feminine appearance, but Jo was still getting used to it.
"Well, that's great, but, um, you look like Melinda Sparkssta
Is there any reason?"
"I chose this format based on your preference for a mate."
"……ah."
It seems that Joe's new companion has somewhat misunderstood his statement that they are "mates," but the man is hesitant to say it. He felt as though this could be interpreted as a reneging on the agreement he had just made. He wasn't going to take that risk again. Even he's not that stupid. Besides, he won't complain about having a total doll following him around.
"Joe, don't you like the shape?"
"No! No, it's okay. Better than good. In fact, very cute. She has nice limbs and body," the man said, desperately avoiding the word "breasts."
"That makes me happy."
The now female cosmic entity was feeling so good that her first attempt at flesh carving seemed to be a success.
"I look forward to our collaboration," her smile grew wider.
"Well, me too, Miss Maghera—Maghar—excuse me, what's your name?"
"McGrack, The Observer."
"Yeah, that's a bit of a mouthful. Do you mind if I call you Maggie?"
"I allow you, and only you, to do this."
It looks like Joe finally got the girl of his dreams, although maybe not in the way he imagined.
