DISCLAIMER: I do not own Homestuck or any of the characters associated with it. I only own my own characters, which are based in Andrew Hussie's universe.

Chapter 1: New Beginnings

A young troll boy stands inside his room. And today, the tenth bilunar perigee of the thirtieth dark season's equinox, is this troll's wriggling day. Though it was eight solar so insert show social sweeps ago that he was given life, it is only today that he shall be given a name. Take your pick.

Enter name: Weeb Doucheballoon.

Oh god, here we go. You're really going to follow that stupid cliche? You know the one, where the reader decides to be a dickwad and tries to give these characters, which I have carefully cultivated until their personalities were perfect, the worst names on the face of the galaxy. Yea no, I ain't tolerating that. Try again, jackass.

Enter Name: Vallem Ammena.

Your name is VALLEM AMMENA. As previously mentioned, it is your WRIGGLING DAY. How you managed to survive this long (even with YOUR FAIRLY HIGH BLOOD STATUS) is beyond your comprehension. You tend to piss off the HIGHBLOODS, who really do not like you because you endorse LOWBLOOD EQUALITY MOVEMENTS and you have no sense of PERSONAL SPACE.

You have a very ENERGETIC PERSONALITY, which people either describe as CONTAGIOUS or ANNOYING. You try to keep your craziness cooled with your LUXURY RELAXATION GARDEN, but you do have an extreme SWEET TOOTH which doesn't help in your efforts. Because of your ACTIVENESS and HIGH METABOLISM, your body shape has been said to resemble A TOOTHPICK.

You have a few INTERESTS. You love all sorts of WILD ANIMALS, and any abandoned strays you make it your duty to care for and nurture in your garden. Subsequently, you are also a FIDUSPAWN ENTHUSIAST, but you are only somewhat good at the card game. But by far, your favorite hobby is MUSIC: and you are extremely good at it. You know how to play SEVEN INSTRUMENTS with ease, your favorite being the CHIN-SCREECHER, also known as the VIOLIN.

Your online name is melodicApostle, and you speak in a way ))tzhat reprezentz your zign and your hornz, and tzhat you feel iz high-clazz.

What will you do?

Narrator: Fix the camera.

What the fuck are you talking about? Is there something wrong with the video quality? Goddamnit, hold on just a sec... holy shit, this computer is goddamn busted! Jesus christ, is that a spider?

I guess that teaches me to never buy an observing computer from a drug dealer. Well, I guess we'll have to make do with text! Sound good? No? Well too bad, I don't have a goddamn computer tree hanging around whenever I need it. Deal with it.

...Okay, where was I? Ah yes... what will you do?

Vallem: Describe yourself.

Good work-around. Anyway, you are, of course, a troll of planet Alternia. You are a blue-blood, and you've made sure to follow the proper etiquette codes while also breaking them. Instead of the usual black everything, you went for a checkered blue-and-black dress shirt with your sign, Scorces, sewed onto the breast pocket. Take that, social norms! Below that, you just wear some basic jeans and boots.

Your hair... is a mess. You've tried on multiple occasions to tame it, or make it more manageable, but all of them were in vain, so you've given up. Out of the dark bramble comes your horns, which emerge on your upper forehead rather than your scalp. They somewhat remind you of bows, but they're much thicker than any bow. To try and describe it, they emerge from your head, curl backwards slowly, and then thin out as they curl forward again. Lastly, you grew like a weed as a grub, and you're finally tapering off at an astonishing height of six feet and five inches tall.

Vallem: Look around.

You're standing in your RESPITEBLOCK, the walls painted a cool cerulean blue. Three doors are on three walls of the square living space. On the fourth wall, your recuperacoon lies empty and your computer station sits dormant. Your violin displays itself proudly upon its stand, and a folder full of sheet music was haphazardly tossed beside it.

You also have a workstation, with hundreds of crumpled up papers piling up around it. Those papers contain many things: music compositions, drawings, stories. But you didn't really like them so you tossed them away. You'll make some better ones eventually.

Vallem: Inspect violin.

Your precious.

You are hella good with that thing, and you'd play on stage if you weren't hated by the highbloods. If there's one thing that can really calm you down, it's your music. The sweet sounds of the strings making a beautiful melody, it can make you more serene than a sleeping slowbeast.

You can play other instruments too. You prefer to use the highblood terms for them, as they sound much more majestic and beautiful: piano, guitar, flute, xylophone, trumpet, and banjo. If only you could play them all at once, then you'd be the happiest troll on the planet.

Vallem: Play a haunting violin refrain.

You carefully pick up the violin and it's bow, and it instantly registers as part of STRINGKIND, your Strife Specibus. You have another Strife Specibus, BOWKIND, for when you want to deal much more damage.

You press the violin to your chin, using the proper posture, and slide the bow across the strings. A calm notes emerges, and a chilling song begins to form. You put so much emotion into your movements, and it reflects on the music you play. After it's over, you feel very satisfied and place the violin back.

Vallem: Inspect doors.

The three doors lead to very different places. The first door leads to the balcony, which looks over the central chamber of your hive. Said chamber is a large auditorium with a massive glass dome roof. You sometimes invite your lusus and his family to listen to your playing, and occasionally they might join in with a chorus of humming and buzzing.

The second door leads to a staircase, which then takes you down into the auditorium itself. And the third and final door leads outside, to where your lusus and his family reside.

Suddenly, your computer chimes. It's the familiar notification sound of Trollian, the most popular chatting app on Alternia currently. Someone must have messaged you.

Vallem: Respond to message.

You decide to respond to the message. You sit down at your computer station and open the troll log.

wildernessIntrepid[WI] has begun trolling melodicApostle[MA].

WI: _Heiea! What's going on, bluebie?_

MA: ))Not much. Today'z been prettzy boring zo far, it'z ztzill early in tzhe zpin.

WI: _I guess that's true. Well, since ieou have nothing going on currentlie, do ieou have anie plans for todaie?_

MA: ))Nope. I'm a free tzroll today. Why do you azk?

WI: _Some big game just dropped. Everieone's rushing to plaie it, and I kinda gave into peer pressure a bit. 3:)_

MA: ))Uh-huh. What'z tzhis game called?

WI: _Sgrub!_

MA: ))What kinda name iz tzhat?

WI: _Who cares? Looks like a fun game._

MA: ))Tzen why don'tz you go play it yourzelf?

WI: _It's strictlie a multiplaier game, ieou need at least three trolls to plaie._

WI: _Preferablie I'd like to get more than that. So I'm asking mie friends, and putting out a recruiting thing online._

MA: ))You know I do not do people very well.

WI: _Please, bluebie? It'll be fun! Plus, I heard that there's a reward to those who complete it. 3;)_

MA: ))...fiiiine.

WI: _Iees! Thanks, dude! Ieou won't regret it!_

MA: ))I tzhink I already am.

melodicApostle has gone offline.

WI: _He reallie needs to get better at people._

wildernessIntrepid has ceased trolling melodicApostle.

Vallem: Be someone else.

The broke-ass camera shifts focus focus to a relaxed troll girl. She's sprawled out on a loungeplank, and her eyes are closed as she rests. What's her name?

Enter name: Lazy Fatass.

Hey! She's not fat, she's just a little chubby. She even exercises! Besides, that's straight up body shaming, what the hell is wrong with you?

Wait... oh my god, you made her fucking cry! You utter douchenozzle, you just made a very emotional teenage girl start sobbing on her fucking couch, simply because you called her fat. You know what, no more naming privileges. You don't deserve them after you MADE THIS GIRL CRY.

Your name is NAERYS CIVELL. You are a GOLDBLOOD of MIDDLING PSIONIC ABILITY, which means you can move small to medium-sized shit around the place. You try to practice and improve, but you always FAIL SPECTACULARLY. You are somewhat SOLITARY, as you don't respond well to CRITICISM and kind of let people WALK ALL OVER YOU. You are very EMOTIONAL, so if someone happens to say something MEAN, there's a good chance you'll have a BREAKDOWN.

As for your INTERESTS, you can easily be described as a BOOKWORM. You have hundreds of shelves filled with STORIES OF ALL GENRES, each of which you have read at least once. You love to WRITE STORIES OF YOUR OWN, but all of them are admittedly filled with CLICHES. You also love to DRAW, but you are, frankly, quite terrible at it.

What will you do?

Naerys: Describe yourself.

As you previously mentioned, you are a goldblood. Your sign is Gemiborn, which you keep on a necklace. You usually wear your favorite hoodie, which is an extremely thick and comfortable black hoodie. It helps hide your slight chub, so you always wear it. You also wear some grey sweatpants and sneakers, both of which you picked out yourself because you crave the MAXIMUM amount of comfort.

Your hair is a bit raggedy, but you keep it fairly tame. You've also given yourself gold highlights on the ends, which you think helps you look pretty. Since you are a psionic, you have solid multi-colored eyes: in this case, one is solid bright yellow and another solid red. You have two sets of horns, like most goldbloods: the first set, the main one, emerges from the top of your head, then sways back and forth a couple of times. Your secondary horns are simply smaller versions of those. Lastly, you stand at a kinda short height of five feet and four inches and you are closing in on your 8th wriggling day.

Naerys: Look around.

You look up from your hoodie, now soaked with tears in splotches. You're in your recreational block, where you would invite friends over for parties if you had any. A small table sits in front of you, where a mug of energetic nut-syrup lies untouched... so far. You'll probably drink it later.

You stand up on the soft carpet and observe the block. Most of the walls have shelving attached to them, and stocked to the brim with texts and stories. Only one doesn't have books, instead it has some board games. You often have to play by yourself, seeing as you don't really have anyone to play with.

Connect One is your personal favorite. It's a very short game of wits and speed. The premise: grab the singular token before the other person can, then chuck it into the slot. You're pretty great at it, at least when you're playing stuffed animals. You don't know how good you'd be if you played against actual trolls.

Other than the shelves, the only things else are your loungeplank, the table, and a medium-sized TV.

Naerys: Find a book.

You smile and wipe the tears away. Yea, that'll help you get your mind off those mean voices. You head over to the shelves, and quickly slide your hand over one of your favorites: The Ashen Tree. Unlike most volumes, this one was written hundreds of years ago, when the idea of long and explanatory titles was not around.

You open the book and begin to read.

"The Ashen Tree

There once was a male and a female, who were strong and powerful matesprits. The two craved descendants, but the Mother Grub never provided.

One day in the later dark seasons, the female is slicing a grubfruit 'neath an ashen tree. She accidentally cuts her finger, and olive blood spilt into the snow. "Oh," she sighed heavily, staring at the blood before her. "If only I had a descendant as grey as slate and pale as snow."

A few wipes passed. Then, given to the couple, was their child, a male, with the horns of the female and very healthy, dark grey skin. The female cried with joy, then in her elation, she perished. Her grieving matesprit buried her body underneath the branches of the ashen tree, and named the grub Daimen.

The male later reentered matespritship, with another female. They had a female wriggler named Marlen together. However, the female was jealous of her step-grub, as she wanted her true grub to inherit everything instead of him.

The female had an idea, and came up with a plan from it, for the half-child had higher blood than her and killing him would get her culled. She brang her descendants up to the highest floor, and there was a metal chest. She took a grubfruit from the chest, and gives it kindly to her girl. The wriggler left, and the boy came forth. But when he reached in for a grubfruit, the female slammed it shut, and the head of the male joined the fruits.

She took the head and body of the descendant, and placed them outside, so that he leaned against the hive. She tied a white cloth around his neck, so the tear could not be seen. Lastly, she had the boy hold his grubfruit.

The girl found him, and attempted to speak with the boy. When he dod not reply, she went to her ancestor. "Custodian," she said. "Diamen is deathly white, and he is ignoring me."

"Go back to him," said the female. "And if he does not listen to you, punch him in the listening nubs." So she went back, and when she hit him, the head fell off, as was to be expected. The girl was horrified, and to ease her worries of the guilt, her ancestor chopped his body into pieces, and made a meal of him.

When the male came back to the hive, he asked where Daimen was. His matesprit replied that he had gone to see some relatives. The trolls sat down to eat. The male loved the meal, while his half-youngling watched in horror. The next day, she took his bones in a silken scarf, and buried them 'neath the ashen tree. A flapbeast flew out of the tree, and the girl was comforted.

The bird flew to the hive of a goldsmith, and began to sing: "My caretaker, she killed me, my ancestor, he ate me, my sister Marlen, gathered all my bones, tied them to a silken scarf, laid them neath the ashen tree, chirp chirp, what a beautiful flapbeast I am."

The goldsmith was delighted, and demanded the flapbeast sing its song again. The beast complied, in exchange for a golden chain.

The beast flew to the hive of a shoemaker, and sings it's song. This time, the bird gained a pair of bright burgundy shoes for its song. And once more, in front of a mill, the beast gained a millstone.

The flapbeast flies back to the ashen tree. It sings the beautiful song: "My caretaker, she killed me, my ancestor, he ate me, my sister Marlen, gathered all my bones, tied them to a silken scarf, laid them neath the ashen tree, chirp chirp, what a beautiful flapbeast I am."

The male emerges from the hive, and the flapbeast gives him the golden chain. The beast sang her song once more, and Marlen emerges. It gave her the burgundy shoes to her. One last time, and the female emerged. And the final gift of the millstone was dropped upon her head, crushing her to death.

From behind the ancestor and Marlen, the hive bursted into flames. Then a figure emerges, and to the surprise of the trolls, it was a smiling and happy Daimen. The three trolls embraced, and they sat at the burned table to eat."

You smile as you finish the story. The bad woman received justice, and the family was whole. It really made you very happy when you were younger, but it was difficult for your lusus to explain how trolls were once taken care of by other trolls. You managed to get it eventually, and she told you that you were a very bright grub.

Speaking of your lusus, the feather-hooded snake you call you custodian slides into the block. She takes one look at your soaked hoodie and rushes to comfort you. In a matter of seconds you are surrounded by warm and comfortable scales, with a concerned reptilian face hissing at you. You give her a smile and some cheek scratches as a thanks. The concern transforms into contentment, and you both fall asleep in each other's embrace.

Naerys: Be someone else.

You're now back to being Vallem, and you're currently installing SGRUB on your computer. You watch as the strange changing green-thingy spins around as the loading bar progresses forward. It's pretty boring just sitting here. And then, it finishes. Your screen goes black, and doesn't come back online. You stare incredulously at your computer for a moment, and then notice your Trollian tab blinking. You click on it, bringing up your messages with WI.

WI: _Alright, everiething is working as intended!_

MA: ))What tzhe hell are you tzalking about, my zcreen juzt went completely black and won't come back online!

WI: _That's the point!_

MA: ))...what.

WI: _Iea, there are two main roles in this game. The Server Plaier, and the Client. I am ieour Server Plaier, and ieou are the Client. Mie job is to help ieou through the game until ieou become independent. In return, ieou'll help someone else in our session, and someone will help me._

MA: ))Zo tzhen, how do we begin?

WI: _First things first, I need to start altering ieour environment so I can place down objects._

WI: _My screen is currentlie displaieing ieour room, so I think if I start clicking around something will happen._

WI: _Let's see here..._

You're interrupted from the conversation by loud noises behind you. You turn around toWHY IS YOUR RECUPERACOON FLOATING.

WI: _Heie, this is just like Sims 4!_

MA: ))Wh-

MA: ))How-

MA: ))Are YOU tzhe one doing tzhat?!

WI: _Who else would it be?_

WI: _Aniewaie, I'm going to start moving some things around so we can have some space._

Anything that was previously in the middle of the block is quickly moved, leaving several walls and the center of the room open for usage. A strange rectangular machine is placed against your wall, and a square machine with a platform and a robo-arm settles down nicely in the center of the block. In an open corner, a square-shaped container with a closed tube in the top appears.

Lastly, a small card with punched rectangles pops into existence on your lap. Nothing more appears out of thin air, so you turn back to the computer.

MA: ))Iz tzhat everytzhing?

WI: _Ies. Now it's just a matter of using all of these machines properlie._

WI: _The machine in the center of your block is the ALCHEMITER. Ieou will be using that later as the game's crafting siestem._

WI: _Next, the rectangular machine along ieour wall is the TOTEM LATHE. Ieou will also use that later as part of the game's crafting siestem._

WI: _The square thing in the corner is the CRUXTRUDER. It makes ieour KERNELSPRITE and some CRUXITE DOWElS. Both of which are essential to the game._

WI: _And lastlie, the PRE-PUNCHED CARD is ieour ticket to entering the game._

MA: ))Huh. I have no idea what any of tzhat meanz right now, but I'll probably figure it out az we go along.

WI: _I'll work ieou through the process right now._

WI: _First, go to the Cruxtruder. Use something heavie on that lid, and crack it open like a soda can._

Vallem: Open the Cruxtruder.

You carefully place the Pre-Punched Card down on your computer's desk, then head over to the Cruxtruder. You think of something heavy you have in your possession. Neither of your Strife Specibi will work here, as they are both ranged weapons. As you think, you don't notice the auditorium seat that has been clearly ripped from the ground above your head until it comes crashing down on the machine.

A bright flash of light occurs. When you open your eyes again, the lid is off and a strange flashing ball of light is staring you in the face. Your yelp with surprise, falling on your ass and scooting away. The ball remains motionless.

Nervously, you eye the ball. It does absolutely nothing, so you deem it safe to return to your computer.

MA: ))What tzhe hell iz tzhat.

WI: _It's that Kernelsprite I mentioned. It can be prototieped with anie object, and it will gain the qualities of that object. Objects can be literallie aniething, even IEOU if ieou're not careful._

MA: ))Noted.

WI: _Ieou'll want to prototiepe it as quickie as possible, if that countdown on the Cruxtruder is aniething to go bie._

Sure enough, a countdown is slowly ticking down on the machine. Ten minutes and thirty seconds, to be precise. A slight sense of worry begins to fill you. You'll need to find something to prototype it with.

MA: ))Hey, zo why do I need to do tzhis prototyping?

WI: _The Kernelsprite serves as ieour guide and tutorial once ieou enter the game, and what ieou prototiepe it with affects how the sprite will act and how it will guide ieou._

Well, that solves that problem. You'll pair it with your lusus, who you have named Tekeat. He's a bumblebird male, so he serves the bumblebird queen. You also serve the queen, for it was the queen who was generous enough to move the hive to your forest after Tekeat bonded with you. Returning the favor for allowing you to survive is the least you could do.

Vallem: Head outside.

You are almost out the door leading outside when you hear a massive crash from the auditorium.

Vallem: Investigate the crash.

You burst onto the auditorium balcony, only to see the Bumblebird Queen has broken through the glass dome above the stands. A swarm of bumblebirds crowd around her, tending to any wounds she may have gained with the action. A particular bumblebird zips up to you, and you easily identify it as your lusus. He's only about the size of your hand, so you hold your hand out for him to land on. From the speed and sounds of his buzzes and hums, it appears that he is very worried.

You set him on the ground, and he begins doing the strange communication dance for which bumblebirds are known. You've been around him long enough to understand some things, and you pick a few words: "danger," "fire," "rock," and "escape" are the main ones. You quickly deduce that the queen saw danger in fire and rocks, and sought to escape into the auditorium.

Now you're a bit worried about the fire and the rocks. You incline your head upwards and sniff the air. You don't smell any smoke. But you do see something through the glass dome. A bright light in the sky, and it ain't one of the moons. You squint, trying to make the object come into focus.

It's a meteor.

And it's heading right for you.

Vallem: Have a mental breakdown.

You collapse to the floor and start screaming like a wriggler.

Vallem: Be someone else.

You are now someone else. You observe a young troll as he adjusts a pair of combat goggles, increasing the zoom and how far he can observe. He puts his eye into the scope of a rifle, targeting the rust-colored orb of a massive cluckenrex. His aim steadies. A shot echoes in the snowy mountains. A sharp screech, and the beast falls. A rustblood tries to run, and he too falls with a hole through his skull.

You smile, large fangs jutting out from your bottom lip. Your home has been defended once again.

Your name is XORVEK DASICH. You are a WAR MACHINE, born and raised to FIGHT AND KILL. And you'd be dead if you weren't really good at it. You prefer the use of your MILITARY GRADE ANTI-MATERIAL RIFLE, which you stole from a visiting IMPERIAL WARSHIP. You've also been diagnosed with a minor case of INSANITY, which embrace as part of your PERSONALITY.

You only really have a few main INTERESTS: the HISTORY OF WARFARE, MODERN WEAPONRY, and THE CONDESCE. Her Imperial Condescension has served as a role model to you, inspiring you to get better and better. Your ULTIMATE DREAM is to be the TOP GENERAL in the ALTERNIAN MILITARY.

Your online name is benevolentNightmare, and you speak in a way THAT IS KIN-A IMPE-E- BY Y-UR EXTREME UN-ERBITE.

What will you do?

Xorvek: Loot the corpses.

You leap off of your craggy ledge, your massive coat flying out behind you. You roll when you hit the ground in order to cushion the blow, then begin a light jog. You quickly reach the newly-made corpses this way. The cluckenrex has a saddle, which you search and find TEN (10) CANS OF BRAND-NAME DIETARY SUPPLEMENTS. Tasteless, slimy mush that is extremely useful in survival, because of its high level of nutrients. Essentially, it's perfect for you.

After storing the cans in your satchel, you move on to the body of the troll. You feel a twinge of guilt, so you kneel before the body and whisper a quick apology, as well as a blessing for good outcomes in whatever afterlife there is. Then, you begin to loot. You find ONE (1) PAIR OF SNOW GOGGLES, ONE (1) COMBAT DAGGER, and ONE (1) LEATHER-BOUND JOURNAL.

Xorvek: Read the journal.

You open the journal and begin to read. Journals are a valuable find up here, as TV reception is limited, and news is scarce. Therefore, you need all the news you can get. At least you get decent internet for your video games.

The journal doesn't tell you much, besides what you already knew. The only new thing is an extremely recent entry about a new game, which is sweeping the planet. It quickly piques your interest, as you want in on anything that's popular and a game.

Xorvek: Describe yourself.

Alright, fine. You, like the body beneath you, are a rustblood. Your sign is Arist. You wear it on your shirt, displayed below your black jacket. The jacket is massive, reaching down to your knees, with a collar that partially obscures your face. You also like to wear a pair of military-grade goggles, which not only give you enhanced vision, but shield your eyes from the blizzards and snow of the mountains.

For your physical body, your hair is based in somewhat curly nests. Your horns are downward facing, emerging from the sides of your head and then curling upward on the sides of your face, creating a little crown of sorts. You have a massive underbite. Your lower canines are huge to boot, so you somewhat resemble a human "orc" (though you have no idea what that is). Finally, you stand at a height of five feet and seven inches tall and you are six and a half sweeps old.

Xorvek: Go back to your hive and download the game.

Fucking gladly! You stand up from the body, put your fingers to your lips, and let out a high-pitched whistle. It echoes through the mountains, and a howl echoes back.

Then, from between two peaks, your lusus: Fenris the quillwolf. A beast with a canine body and wings made of sharp spines, which can be launched. Some of the hairs on his back are also spines, which is why you need the saddle.

Fenris lands, and you give him some scratches behind his ears. He pants happily and gives you an excited lick on your cheek, leaving your face covered in saliva. You wipe it off in disgust, then mount up and fly off into the mountains.

Xorvek: Be someone else.

Instead of going back to Vallem, you encounter yet another new face. A rugged face. With a scar over her eye. Pretty awesome. I'm going to give you a chance to name her properly, so don't fuck it up.

Enter Name: Phonix Kilora.

Good, you learned your lesson. Anyway, your name is PHONIX KILORA. You're a BRONZEBLOOD, and you're PROUD OF IT. In your hive, there is NO SUPERIOR CASTE, nor should one feel shame FOR WHO THEY ARE. That's what you believe anyway, and it's saddening that no one else feels that way. You aren't afraid to FIGHT BACK in minor ways, like destroying some shit that belonged to some HIGHBLOODS. You almost NEVER GIVE UP, and you believe that you can FIX THE HEMOSPECTRUM.

You love ASTRONOMY AND THE STARS, for you find them really pretty and inspiring. You hope to be an IMPERIAL CARTOGRAPHER, mapping NEW SYSTEMS as the Empire conquers them. You also want to explore the PLANETS you conquer, learning about the CIVILIZATIONS on them before they are inevitably CULLED. You also have an interest in WOODCARVING, and your hive is decorated with some of your BEST WORKS. Your online name is interstellarXenologist and you speak in a way *th*t connects you with the st*rs*

What will you do?

Phonix: Describe yourself.

As previously mentioned, you are a bronzeblood. However, living as a worker on some highblood's plantation forced you to wear specific things. You wear a pair of black overalls, your sign emblazoned on them. You also wear a plaid shirt underneath that, easily giving you the farm girl look. You also wear some heavy-duty boots, as you really don't like mud on your feet.

You keep your hair in a large braid, which reaches down to your knees. You don't allow any stray locks to obscure your face, as you kinda need that for seeing shit. Speaking of your face, your right eye has a massive scar over it, which you gained after single-handedly slaying a rampaging Lusus, saving countless lives and your job. You were lucky you didn't lose the eye. Your horns resemble that of a night-screechbeast, yet they are a bit more round. You stand at a height of six feet tall and you are a little under six sweeps old.

Phonix: Look around.

You look around the respiteblock. Lucky for you, today's one of the few days off you're allowed a year, so you're currently just relaxing in your hive. You're sitting in a comfy splaysac, and just taking the time to relax your overworked and exhausted muscles. There's your clunky computer in the corner, your recuperacoon, some shelves with either a few books or some of your carvings, and a chest of your belongings.

Phonix: Check notifications.

You get up off the splaysac and drop yourself into the computer chair. You log on mighty quick and find that you do indeed have a notification from one of your friends. You quickly decide to answer.

adroitlyInsidious[AI] has begun trolling interstellarXenologist[IX].

AI: allright gt th fuck up

AI: i know today's your brak day

AI: thrfor

AI: w actualllly do somthing fun, instad of you dnying m ovr and ovr

AI: and no, you dont have a choic

IX: *nice to see you too*

AI: shut up and llistn

IX: *i'm c*lling your bluff*

AI: not today sistr

AI: thrs this gam that got supr popullar in llik two hours

AI: vryons playing it

AI: and its an excus to gt you off your workahollic ass

IX: *l*st i checked my computer can't run shit*

AI: nop, this game rquirs llik zro mmory

AI: som trolllls ancint husktop managd to run it no swat

AI: you cant fight this bronz

AI: just fucking give in

IX: *fucking d*mnit*

IX: *fine i'll pl*y the g*me*

IX: *wh*t's it c*lled*

AI: sgrub

IX: *well th*t's very cre*tive*

AI: stfu it llooks good

AI: and dont think i wont know if you downlloaded it or not

AI: illll be waiting pallmat

adriotlyInsidious has ceased trolling interstellarXenologist.

You smile at your moirail's antics. She's a bit rough around the edges, but she's a very kind and genuine person on the inside. You are a bit of a workaholic, and she's right that you need to loosen up. Might as well take the edge of by playing a game with friends.

You switch tabs, search the game, and click the download button.

Phonix: Be Vallem.

You are now Vallem. You have recovered from your meltdown, and are now working anxiously against the ticking clock. Specifically, you're trying to figure out how the Kernelsprite works. So far it's just sat there. Tekeat is sitting on your shoulder, curiously observing the orb.

"I wonder if tzhere'z an interfaze for the prototyping…" you wonder aloud. Tekeat takes to the air, zipping around the orb with wide-eyed wonder. He descends towards the orb, and pecks it curiously.

Another flash of light, and you cover your eyes. When you can open them once more, you see the Kernelsprite has changed. It now has the face of Tekeat emblazoned on it, a feathery humbeast beak facing downward while his compound eyes stare endlessly. It gives off some sort of humming-buzz, as though it is attempting to communicate.

Step one, prototype the sprite: check. Next step, save your ass from impending doom.

You hop back on the computer, to find a list of instructions waiting on you.

WI: _Turn the wheel on the Cruxtruder. Ieou'll recieve some Cruxite Dowels._

WI: _Then, go to the Totem Lathe, plug the Punched Card into the slot, and insert a dowel._

WI: _The dowel will be carved._

WI: _Finallie, take the newlie-made totem to the Alchemiter. Place the totem on the pad near the robo-arm, and it will make something that must be interacted with in some waie._

WI: _I have to go now, I need to make sure I don't die._

wildernessIntrepid has ceased trolling melodicApostle.

You gather your courage, and begin the checklist. A dowel given. A card inserted, and a totem carved. Lastly, an item is made: a strange, cerulean page of sheet music, called "[S] Vallem: Enter."

The name of the piece freaks you out a little bit, but don't overreact like you want to. You're too terrified of the countdown being at forty seconds.

You rush to the balcony, and notice the meteor rapidly gaining size and definition. You fly back into your respiteblock, grab your violin, and prop the bit of music up on a stand.

And you begin to play. It's a fast-paced, anxious song that inflames your nerves like fire. You want to speed up the song, but you don't know what affects it will have on whatever is supposed to happen. You force yourself to stay in time, following the rhythm carefully.

What feels like an eternity passes. Your bow slides across the strings for the final note, as your hive lights up with bright orange light, with the meteor falling upon the roof.

Then blackness.

You glance up. Nothing seems to have happened. But you're not dead, so that's good. You keep your instrument in hand, and slowly glance outside your window.

The violin and the bow fall from your hands.

Outside, a completely different environment stares back at you. The hive stands upon a large stone brick platform, with the surrounding trees and grass taken along. Beyond the hive, an endless maze of castle walls, statues, and architecture

A name instantly comes to the forefront of your mind: The Land of Twilight and Bastions.

You sigh, and a smile spreads across your face. A feeling manifests inside your chest. You've never really felt it before, which is what makes it so strange.

It's the feeling of belonging.

You're finally home.

Vallem: Be Xorvek.

You are now Xorvek. You're staring into the distance, a new and unfamiliar one. Bright red and dusty canyons extend into the distance, the scars of a war evident all around. Broken spears, discarded shields, bones of humanoid creatures. Your bunker-hive stands behind you, now embedded in a new chunk of rock.

You grasp your rifle tighter.

Your destiny is here.

The Land of Crags and Battle agrees.

Xorvek: Be Naerys.

You are now Naerys. You cautiously peek out from behind the door frame. Why did you ever join that random troll's game-recruitment thing? You barely even care about games, and you have no friends, so now you've been transported to some different dimension with a bunch of people you don't know!

You feel the one emotion you fear most coming on quickly.

But now is not the time for that.

You steel your heart with the strongest emotions you have: your anger towards your ex-tormentors.

You walk through the door.

And the Land of Towers and Firestorms confronts you.

Naerys: Be Phonix.

You are now Phonix. You're climbing down a massive chain, as your hive was, for some reason, deposited upon a massive steel structure. The dark fog unnerves you slightly, but you manage to hit the ground with little to no trouble.

Then, out of the mist: black, sludge-y shapes with the features of your lusus: four eyes, and a chitterbeast tail. This whole thing is starting to really put you on your guard.

The figures lunge. You draw your kite shield from your Strife Deck, and ready yourself to fight.

Claws scrape against metal.

The Land of Chains and Smog calls your name.

Phonix: Be Vallem.

You've stepped onto your outdoor balcony, which extended into the forest for a while until it was abruptly cut off by the hive's movement. The crumbling remains of the bridge are below your feet, but you're not paying attention to that.

The wind blows through your hair, and lightly touches the maze of stone below. A familiar scent fills your nose, the scent of fresh air when it has been there untouched for countless ages.

It is your eighth wriggling day, and as with all seven preceding it, something had felt like it's missing from your life. The game that has nearly killed you and yet saved you from harm is only the latest deck of cards that the mistress known as the Universe has dealt you. Her intelligence eludes you at every turn. Her cruelty knows bounds which not even the Condesce can understand, yet none can truly grasp her compassion. We can only see a reflection, like a violet moon in the light of your glasses.

The faint ring of windchimes leaves a pleasant melody in your ear.

You have a feeling that this is going to be much more than you ever imagined.

PLEASE READ

Hello everyone! This is GLITCHSTUCK, a fanfic based approximately fourteen sweeps (30.3 Years) after the events of Hivebent, in a universe where the events of Hivebent never took place. The original twelve have definitely left their mark, but they are not the main characters. Instead, a different twelve of my own making are here.

Throughout the events of this story, I will be taking command suggestions for the characters, which might be placed at random intervals, but most likely will get featured at one point or another. As for my update schedule, I will be taking my time with each chapter, in order to guarantee the best story possible, so the schedule will be very inconsistent. Don't be afraid to give me some criticism either, as I use each tidbit to improve my writing.

Thank you for checking out GLITCHSTUCK, and I look forward to your comments.

-RavensofOdin

NEXT CHAPTER: Intermission 1: The Watchtrolls