Ex-Doctor Of Rhodes Island

SuperNova Prevention

Hey,

Work done for three days, time to jump right back in.

Thanks for the support.

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Mal-Mal was kneeling in a massive room deep in the bowels of their base, Eyes closed, Soft murmurs on her lips; the ornate white marble and the gold-trimmed room glowed faintly, as did her Halo and wings in unison.

Her soft chanting got louder and more desperate. As intelligent as she was, she was not lacking in faith either. Those not born a Sankta don't believe and don't try to care about what makes them who they are as a proud Sankta. They think their Halo and wings were just for show, to light up a dark place. Fluorescent lamps, they called them.

Those who try to show interest will know of their Empathy for one another to feel each other's emotions. This room was created with a purpose. Not even Agenta could understand. Agenta and the architects who helped them build it were pestering her day in and day out about the construction of this particular room. It took up ample space in their base and cost millions. Maybe one day, she will understand. Perhaps they all would.

Her Halo was getting brighter and brighter as the murmurs leaving her mouth got louder, unknown words only a Sankta knows. Her eyes open slowly upon hearing it.

A beautiful melody.

A desperate call.

Mal-Mal looked up from her kneeling position and smiled.

A voice joined her chants, her praying. Then two voices, then thirty voices. Finally, representatives of all tones and pitches joined in on her praying, breaking into a beautiful song.

Mal-Mal stood abruptly and turned to the choir of sound that had joined her. Mal-Mal's Halo was shining in jubilation as she came face to face with a sea of kneeling, chanting Sankta. There must have been over 400 halos shining in front of her.

All were hand-picked by Mal-Mal from across Terra, all of her kind that had been abused, thrown down into the mud, Those who wanted away from corruption and discrimination. What she and her kind could share was something all her intellect could never give her. Peace.

Any outsider would question Mal-Mal and her fellow compatriots on what they were doing. What was the point? The Sarkaz would laugh at them, at their song. Many would call them foolish. Those who weren't a Sankta would scoff in their direction at such naive actions.

Mal-Mal smiles at the thought of the ignorant and unbelievers. They were not singing. They were not chanting.

They were crying out to the heavens.

Would a deity answer them?

Would an eldritch horror come for them?

They could only hope for the former.

Y/n Had died because of their miscalculations because she was content with creating a weapon, Not a man to change the world as Agenta wanted.

Intelligence over morality is dangerous.

Mal-Mal will repent. She must.

At the height of their merging chorus, The Sankta combined their halos through the sheer luminescence they omitted in a union no outsider had ever seen. The purpose is to create a beacon, a light in the dark, to any higher entity that would care to help them. This massive room was designed specifically for this purpose. For them to amplify their combined cry for help through their halos in their darkest moments.