In a dimensional rift somewhere in the universe, a distorted space that defied conventional physical concepts.
There was no light, no matter, only an endless flow of chaos and unnameable shadows.
Three colossal wills converged here; their mere existence caused the surrounding void to cycle through birth and annihilation.
One of these wills, manifesting as a paradoxical form of infinite gestation and decay, suddenly fluctuated violently, like a giant stone dropped into a calm lake.
Along the edges of its silhouette, which was composed of shadows and illusions of flesh, some newly formed projections resembling organs or limbs exploded and dissipated, only to painstakingly re-coalesce.
"Hmm…?"
A muffled groan, a mix of pain and extreme surprise, echoed through the void.
The other two wills, which had been in a state of absolute stillness, cast their gazes slightly.
One was a complex aggregation of myriad spheres of light, the other a massive shadow lurking in the depths of an endless ocean.
"Shub-Niggurath?"
The myriad spheres of light emitted an ethereal and overlapping voice, carrying a hint of imperceptible inquiry.
"One of your… little toys… seems to be broken?"
"Hmph…"
Shub-Niggurath's will stabilized, but the annoyance of being disturbed and damaged was clearly discernible.
"That… bug… is a bit more troublesome than estimated, actually capable of destroying an avatar in which I had invested a considerable portion of my consciousness."
The lurking shadow emitted a low hum that made the void tremble.
"Mark Grayson… His growth rate is abnormal. Taviel's failure was not entirely coincidental."
"Abnormal?"
The spheres of light gently swayed.
"A variable. The source of his power is not a blessing from this universe, nor a gift from an Outer God… It's more like… a brutal, self-driven… breakthrough?"
Shub-Niggurath's voice carried a hint of sternness and disdain.
"No matter how abnormal, he is ultimately a fish trapped in this pond. His destruction of my avatar merely delays the footsteps of his own end and the end of this universe!"
"Insignificant!"
It forcibly suppressed the pain and anger feedback from the destroyed avatar, and its will became cold and focused once more.
"The immediate priority is to liberate more of our brethren. Our scattered forces must be concentrated. The current rate of consumption… is too slow!"
Its will swept across the vast star map, over the galaxies marked as being consumed or about to be consumed.
"We must accelerate, at all costs!"
"Mobilize all available forces, including the corrupted and transformed remnants of the Alliance, that somewhat useful hyena Trigg, and… create more avatars."
"Harass, destroy, and distract the remaining resistance in this universe! Keep them running ragged!"
Its words were filled with urgency and a desire for expansion.
However, the other two Great Old Ones fell into a brief silence.
They seemed not to fully agree with Shub-Niggurath's somewhat impatient and all-encompassing offensive strategy.
Accelerating the liberation of their brethren was a consensus, but how to accelerate, and whether it was necessary to so eagerly expose more trump cards and power for harassment tactics, rather than more precise, more lethal targeted purges.
There seemed to be different considerations at play.
But they did not voice any objections.
The relationships between the Great Old Ones were far from monolithic; each had its own calculations and plans.
Silence, at times, implied tacit consent.
At other times, it implied… cold observation.
"So be it."
Seeing no opposition from the other two, Shub-Niggurath's will conveyed the command to execute.
More shadows and whispers flowed from this void throne, seeping into the real universe, beginning to carry out its will.
Meanwhile, the wills of the other two Great Old Ones quietly vanished, their destination unknown, continuing their perhaps more profound and more sinister games.
Elsewhere.
Mark and White Lion, riding their streamlined silver-white spaceship, traversed starfields ablaze with war.
Following the vague coordinates provided by the Kothar and the distress signals they heard along the way, they rushed like firefighters to one world after another being consumed or besieged by The Old Ones' Tide.
Mark's fighting style was simple, brutal, yet extremely effective.
He no longer needed to hide his strength; each arrival was like a god descending, using absolute power to destroy the Great Old Ones' minions and tear apart the corrupt fungal mats with overwhelming force.
White Lion, meanwhile, perfectly played the role of cleaner and vanguard.
His combat style was wild and bloody, specializing in clearing up the scattered resistance remaining after Mark's punches, or dealing with trickier mutated forms that required skillful handling.
The flames of vengeance drove him, making him tirelessly slaughter everything connected to the Great Old Ones.
Their combination was astonishingly efficient.
A desert planet on the verge of complete transformation had its global spore cloud generator forcibly shattered by Mark, allowing the light of its star to purify the land.
An oceanic civilization besieged by deep-sea leviathans and flying units saw Mark and White Lion, one destroying the nest deep underwater and the other clearing the skies, carve a bloody path through the enemy.
A massive Great Old Ones' mothership, like a mobile fortress, attempted to collide with a habitable planet; Mark directly smashed through its core power reactor, triggering a chain of explosions, and it was finally finished off by White Lion with the spaceship's main cannon, turning it into cosmic dust.
Intervention after intervention, victory after victory.
The names of Mark and White Lion, along with their unique silver-white spaceship, began to spread at an astonishing rate within the localized networks centered on the civilizations they saved.
In a desperate universe, a clear and powerful light of resistance finally seemed to appear.
Finally, after they had just helped a resilient silicon-based civilization repel a major Great Old Ones' offensive and were resting, Mark received an information stream whose source was extremely concealed and whose encryption method was vastly different from the common technology of the current universe.
The information stream bypassed all the spaceship's regular firewalls and displayed directly on his personal communicator.
The content was concise and startling.
"Mr. Mark Grayson, the Alliance has observed your feats and strength. Your actions align with the Alliance's objective of resisting the Great Old Ones."
"We sincerely invite you and White Lion to discuss strategies for survival. We await your reply. — Alliance, Seventh Harbinger."
Looking at this message, Mark was stunned.
For a moment, an indescribable excitement and hope surged in his heart.
Found them! Finally made contact!
This meant that organized forces, aware of the Great Old Ones' threat, still existed in the universe!
This was undoubtedly a beacon in the darkness!
But immediately, past memories rushed in like a cold tide, quickly extinguishing that excitement.
The Alliance… back then, wasn't the Planetary Alliance seemingly powerful and glorious?
What was the result?
Infighting, ostracism, conspiracies, betrayal… even the High Speaker and Trigg themselves were huge hidden dangers, ultimately attracting the Great Old Ones' covetous gaze and disaster.
What was the internal situation of this Alliance?
Seventh Harbinger?
It sounded like there were at least six other Harbingers?
What was their relationship like?
Was this invitation a sincere offer of cooperation, or another trap?
Was it to utilize his power, or did they have other motives?
The Kothar had said that the Alliance was in disarray, plagued by serious squabbles and disputes…
White Lion seemed to notice the subtle change in Mark's mood, and dragging his scarred body, he walked over, his crimson pupils glancing at the message on the communicator, and he let out a cold snort from his nose.
"The Alliance? Hmph, another grand-sounding thing. Be careful not to be used as a pawn again."
Mark took a deep breath, the doubts in his eyes slowly settling, turning into deep contemplation and vigilance.
Light flickered in his molten-gold pupils.
After a long pause, he moved a finger and replied to the message with just one simple word.
"Received. Arriving."
No matter if hope or a deeper conspiracy lay ahead, he had to go.
This was currently the only way to potentially gather greater strength.
Earth couldn't wait, and this universe couldn't wait.
He turned to White Lion.
"Adjust course to these coordinates. We need to be prepared; we might be heading to another… Hongmen Banquet."
The silver-white silhouette of the spaceship activated again, tracing an elegant arc, departing the orbit of the silicon-based planet where the war had just quieted, and sailed resolutely towards the distant, unknown starfield mentioned in the message.
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