The Foundation beats a bloody retreat from Xiangyao, kaijupolis beneath the waves. Nothing will ever be the same.
Upon earth there is not his like, who is made without fear.
He beholdeth all high things: he is a king over all the children of pride.
Job 41
The City is free.
The Foundation beats a bloody retreat from Xiangyao, kaijupolis beneath the waves. Nothing will ever be the same.
The City is full.
Unbowed agitators clutch their pamphlets and their pistols. The surviving half of a not-quite-hivemind plots grim revenge. All hands are against them, and their hands will be against all.
The City dreams.
A skullscraper burrows into the sleeping megabeast, mining its delirium for vast and alien thoughts. A chef prepares crème brûlée for her favourite bombmaker.
The City lives —
And someone must rule it.
ACT I
Xiangyao, former terror of the South China Sea, which could never be put down by mere bombs. Xiangyao, whose bowels teem with wealth enough to shame empires. Xiangyao, kaijupolis sleeping beneath the waves.
by A Random Day (+103) (8 comments)
The Foundation is done with Xiangyao, but won’t suffer traitors to hold it.
by whenwerewe and
A Random Day (+73) (7 comments)
The Pod swings open, revealing the body-shaped cavity that fits you so well.
You enter.
by TyGently (+64) (7 comments)
INTERMISSION
You have been suffused into the inner cerebrum of Xiangyao Animal Space.
Proceed.
by whenwerewe (+42) (6 comments)
ACT II
How romantic!! This is exactly what you’ve been waiting for. It’s too good to be true. 0_0.
by whenwerewe (+36) (3 comments)
The Insurgency is alive enough to stuff its guts back into place. Their vengeance will be swift and decisive. Their pride as revolutionaries is at stake.
by A Random Day and
whenwerewe (+37) (3 comments)
These are the only conditions the Insurgency has ever known: win or die. Win and die.
by TyGently and
whenwerewe (+34) (5 comments)
Xiangyao was a great terror. With nine faces it feasted on the waking world. Spear and sword broke against it. In the Pacific Theatre, the United States Air Force drowned it, and it lies there still, ever sleeping, never dying.
Fast-forward the better part of a century: a mining colony has sprouted in its body, importing itinerant labourers from across the planet and exporting bioaccumulated mineral wealth.
The Foundation is in retreat. The city writhes with pent-up energy, in the alehouses and the alleys. Men are found dead in the streets. Factions established and insurgent vie for control.
Who can tame this beast?
Us, say the true Foundation, rebelling against the O5 Council.
Us, say a circle of mad psychics, nursing a long-dead dream.
Us, say a rabble of pamphleteering radicals, climbing out of the muck.
They are all mistaken.
