Alliteration, who was in hiding during the battle, anxiously flies from the fall of his fatherly cockroach companion. He hurls himself heavenward then timidly turns around twirling towards the ocean oracles. He has heresy and humiliation to regrettably report.
Alliteration does not hesitate, for there are no allies left for him in the floating sunset city. None save chaos.
Suddenly, Chaos, huddled in a ball, realizes it is alone. Chaos begins to swirl.
The swirling grows chaotic. And soon there is only chaos.
Thus chaos begets darkness.
And from the darkness comes light.
After light there is sound, there is sight, there is taste, there is smell, there is sensation.
Chaos is shaped into order. The order is polychromatic. It is prismatic. Six figures emerge. Six gods of the land, sky, and sea.
They are polyptic. Like a great wheel of color.
First, a blue and red figure emerges against a bright yellow sun. His body is a small 1/2 Greek man. His head is Horus' Raven. He floats on high (just like himself).
Far beneath him a tree grows. It is purple and dark. Its roots burrow into the underworld, its trunk emerges and exists on the visual plain, and its branches stretch out of human-sight. Its branches seem to chase the metaphysical heights of the 1/2 Greek, 1/2 raven god.
Around the trunk, strangling it or supporting it, is the leviathan body of a green serpent. The head of the serpent emerges as the upper-body of an orange German woman wearing a pair of out-dated spectacles. She reaches out with an amorphous tangerine fruit in hand. She appears to be waiting. She will give the world knowledge. Knowledge of good and evil. Knowledge of love and hate.
To the left of the purple tree is a fiery lake. The lake sits at the base of a crimson mountain. Wading in the water is a ferocious beast. His yellow humanoid body is covered in blue hair. His head is trapped in a ferocious roar. He is a patriarch (and his emerging blue-pubus hair is testiment to his status). He dreams of reaching the sky, of reaching the mountain's peak. But he is trapped in the lake of fire. His frustration is manifest as a Herzogian symbol of animal indifference.
In a blue grassy knoll, right of the purple tree, the body of a yellow man emerges. He sits in an aboriginal fashion. His head is a majestic scarlet rabbit. His eyes are cold and calm. He is at peace in this grassy environ, in this cool kingdom of isolation.
The tree continues to grow. Its branches spread. Above the head of the blue headed bear-man, the sky turns orange. The sounds of pipes can be heard lofting through the air. A pan-like figure sits awkwardly crouched on a high-branch of the purple tree, now turned orange and black. His horny goat limbs are purple, like the trunk of the tree. His body is green, covered in purple-goat hair. Like the snake-woman below, he wears dark-rimmed glasses. He is trickster, minstrel, and fool.
Across from the orange and black branches, green branches emerge. Sitting aloft those branches is a young canine. The canine, upon closer glance, is in fact a dogataur. Part man, part animal. His limbs are a purple St. Benards, his upper body is a young, grape bearded orange man. His glasses are round. The loyalty, inherent in his form, is both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness.
The old gods are created from chaos. The cattle, the pilgrim, and the whale king bow before this new pantheon of old gods.
The world within is now without.
