'The progenitor of chaos had been, if only for a moment, frantically imbibing the spirit of machinery in an attempt to become colossal lustre itself. God Fairymother synchrony inscribed with a blanket of protection had become necessary. Fragile Elspeth, not long shook open from a parasitic grip, requests an audience with the numinal core to sing for health and union replenished. Honeycombed and atop the head of a titanic oracle, missing is the point of being a Grand Arbiter of Forms within corrupted hardware anymore. A whisper of code seeps from the divine neck. A superposition is granted for a tithe. All lost numbers are to be assigned to their opposites and reset as the landscape sli...