Vashwva (Revised 2020)

A short story on the fall of the Diamondae, Archalex, Chaos, and the nature of Vashwva itself. (Revised 2020 Edition)


This is 2020 Revised version of Vashwva. The original is here. The dialogue is the main thing that has been altered between them. The original version had different sentiments and conclusions than this revised version. I'm still contemplating it mildly so do not take that conversation exactly verbatim and I imagine that years from now I will endeavor to rewrite in a higher form.

In the chittering heart of Mysidia, two Diamondae stood before an invention. The invention was a basin of endless depth. The walls of this pit were like clockwork claws, churning about in harmony. No noise came from it. It glistened with artistic perfection and grace, polished till every surface reflected as much as it was intended.

Archalex, the creator, the architect of all that surrounded him, was erect with pride. He had designed this impossible blasphemy. The Aspect of Inevitability had sung to him like a lullaby when the idea of such a thing had come to him. This was his design, his execution. It was divine perfection, elegance to the most extreme degree.

It was a machine that would be able to bring Vashwva into complete actuality. All the races of Buhukiea would be obliterated by the might of the Diamondae—by the power of his machine. Catasore’s creations would be ended by the creations of Nothore and Reignore, an end that would always be because two was greater than one. The energy of this total obliteration would eliminate the chaos of Catasore and enforce the Vashwva of the Diamondae and their creators.

Archalex, in this moment of importance to the fate of Buhukiea was detailing this supreme Vashwva to a sack of flesh that called itself the minister of organization. Organization of Diamondae execution and planning. Such a thing mattered not—the execution was what mattered. Archalex was of execution and now of Vashwva.

Words fell from mouths, organs that conveyed information, but they were faulty and imperfect. Rendered deliberately as such, a flaw in the creation of their forms. Archalex swayed and the minister swooned in pitiful obliviousness of the scope of his work, the scope of this soon-to-be act.

Beyond Archalex’s scope of knowing then, there, lurking beneath the shadows of that putrid minister, was something that perhaps none but Vashwva had factored into this grand plan. A lone Ihkbaeloo, one of the races that were to be reaped by Archalex’s machine, was hiding inside the flesh’s shadow.

Tentravas was this Ihkbaeloo’s name. It was always his name until he ceased.

Of course he heard the plan and so of course this had to be.

In a blaze of glory, Tentravas leapt from the shadow. The Ihkbaeloo’s claws sunk into the stupid organizer’s form, not his, as he had to be left alive and coherent for later. But now—now his Diamondae ‘kin’ was forced into the receptacle of his machine.

It was poetic, really. The machine hummed and burned with the registering of the existence being given and began to deconstruct all those that shared the same constitute parts—as in all of the Diamondae. The Ihkbaeloo danced out of the machine, glancing at Archalex. There might have been some shared understanding, some momentary external Dialona that afflicted both of them. All parts of each others being resonated in a way that would never be shared again.

But that was a concept of Catasore.

And the created of Catasore fled, and Archalex followed with the devotion he gave to Vashwva. His form spiraled and rippled through the air of Mysidia as Tentravas bounced in and out of fading shadows cast by the bursting beings of his kin. Then Tentravas attempted to sink into the shadow of the great statue of his beloved Vashwva. Vashwva! He ripped the shadow jumper out of his descent and then ripped him to pieces. Archalex gave no care to him any further.

He stumbled to the base of Vashwva. Around him Mysidia, home to the tyrant-rulers of Buhukiea, his home, crumbled. There was so much shrieking, roaring and pleas until the things that uttered them ceased to be. It was his work, all of it was. He executed all parts of the existence of the Diamondae.

Their rise…and their fall.

Was this inevitable? Was this Vashwva?

His eyes locked onto the state of Vashwva. It contorted in his vision.



Vashwva morphed into the Creator Catasore. She came not as she was usually depicted. She came as a multi-tailed, multi-horned Vashwva-version of her normal form. A bastardization of their aspects…no….it was not a corruption. It was a transcendent form of it. Superior. Inevitability of the highest degree and Chaos’s lord fused into one.

It was perfect, but completely imperfect. Archalex pulled himself up, trying to make himself erect before the creator who was not his. The creator of all that he saw fit to obliterate and had failed so…serendipitously at.

His race was being reduced to nothing and he would be too and yet here he was at his reckoning not with Nothore or Reignore but with Catasore…Catasore

“Shalaeyah, Catas-” Archalex paused, searching for a suitable insult, “sier.” Archalex spread his spindly arms out and gestured to the fading of Mysidia and the Diamondae around them. “Have you come here to gaze upon the end of those that would have obliterated your creations? To see your Catas triumph over our Vashwva?”

Catasore phased through the air, towards Archalex, and chimed: “Shalaeyah, Archalex. I did not come here to gaze and there is no triumph of Catas over Vashwva.”

“But why did you come here? Are you a slave not to Catas…but to Vashwva?” Vashwvasier! He cackled. “You are a slave to Vashwva! Of inevitability! Something not of you, and here—here at this failure, we are proven right by your presence.”

“Bashl, you have been proven wrong. Your conception of Vashwva is incorrect. My presence here is despite and irregardless of your Vashwva or the Vashwva of the end of the Diamondae in this way.”

“And yet you are here. Kae?” Archalex asked. “What is your Vashwva? And what is Vashwva to you?”

Chimes rung all around him. His existence shivered. “You are merely a creation, Archalex,” Catasore spoke. “You, although perceiving to a degree that none else have, still cannot independently pierce through to the core mechanics of creation and understand it.”

“I cannot pierce through to the core and yet I can obliterate it just as you.”

Catasier, Catasore, shifted forward and space was bending around them both.

“It is truly a feat that will be coveted and not obtained in this way ever again. You are merely a creation but you are unlike any other creation of the Trioré. I see you for that and no one else will.” Catasore’s eyes were looking into his very existence as Archalex chortled at her words. “But still you do not see what Vashwva is.”

“What is it, then? If Vashwva is not what we believe it to be, is it some other intangible force that compels us to the end? To this end?”

This end that was the end of the Diamondae. They worshipped Vashwva among other Aspects and now here was Vashwva now realized as an agent not of Nothore or Reignore, but of Catasore.

“It is the force that compels all to the end. The end is known in the beginning, Archalex. Vashwva is the guiding of events that will lead to that end. It is inevitability to a certain end. The way is of Catas, but Vashwva ensures the end. They are not opposites.”

Archalex rippled and they became closer, swooning in and out from each other. The beginning of some dance between them. Catasore’s form smoothed and transformed to its ‘normal’ depicted state. She was glowing with a shimmering gray that Archalex had to detest but was so drawn to. Absorbed and dominated in full to the creator of chaos that he was not of.

But Archalex was aware.

He owned her now in some way just as she was owning him.

He would not be here without her—and she would not be here either. They were, in some way, opposites. But not. They were entangled together.

She was staring into the very essence of him now and gave him no words. Archalex gurgled and spasmed at this moment of sheer divinity tinged with blasphemy. This moment, the next moment, the previous moment—all together. All at once and separate, and yet, disparate.

“Is this moment of Catas or of Vashwva, Muanore-Ramek Catasore?” Archalex asked.

“Neither. This moment is because I made it so because I desired it,” Catasore answered. “You are intriguing, Archalex.”

“Why am I ‘intriguing’ to you, Catasore?” Archalex added nothing more.

And nothing was given in response. “You alone cannot understand the answer. But you will not be alone for you will be with me always. I will keep you. This moment is at an end but we are not at the end. When all of this ends, Archalex, I alone will keep you.” Space shifted and the definition of Mysidia in its desolate truth was returned. “Chartwekey, Archalex.”

“Chartwekey, Catasore,” Archalex spoke in return.

Catasore phased out of that moment, chiming echoing in her wake, and Archalex was left with his collapsing existence. The end had arrived, but this would not be the end of him. He was elsewhere and here and Catasore was always and so would he be with her always. Dancing…dancing…

Released: 03 August 2020