Madison Altair opens his eyes after falling asleep and immediately makes several consecutive expressions of displeasure. The environment he finds himself in is a twisted form of his previous containment, his apartment without walls and minimilized , opened up to the abyss with nothing but an open door and an absolutely shredded green couch in the center of the room, destroyed by perfectly straight lines torn open to expose stuffing and structure. Splayed out on the couch is a mangled, splintered wooden puppet in his likeness, eyes colorless and a soft sobbing noise coming from its mouth. Flinching hard as he hears the sound, Mads grips the hand that manifests in his tightly the moment he can, needing his primary source of grounding faster than he thought he would. It indicates something terrifying: Sarandiel, at this moment, wants him to suffer more than anything.
Taking a deep, steady breath as he scans the room, Mads picks a point on the black and white marbled sharp-edged floor supporting the couch and focuses hard on the details of something he owns, something he wills to be here for the sake of his own fairly arbitrary desire. It's a warmup, in part, to make sure he still has the ability to manifest in this place like he could before, and it works, a tripod and relatively magical video camera arranged appearing to watch the room from the lack of wall to his left, a hopefully panoramic view for this facedown. He grins with a small reflexive fist pump as the recording starts, satisfied with his success.
---- (viewed ic) ----
The view shows Mads Altair and Cookie glaring down the room, the former bearing a blue suit, shining gold wings and even brighter golden hands. The room in question drips from dark nowhere with viscous black strings, the void beyond increasingly filled with opening, focusing green eyes, some appearing as light and others far more realistic, inconsistent in shade and occasionally shaking in rage as they centralize their awareness on this space again, and the beings who have dared to return.
The puppet on the couch rises on its green strings, hanging rather than standing in its half-connected pieces but its glowing green eyes focused on the pair of men.
”Puppet, my puppet, you return, have you come to throw yourself at my mercy?—” The droning voice echoing from the open hinged mouth cuts short, almost seeming to flinch, many of the surrounding eyes growing wider. “No…What is this divinity? What are you? An angel with a powerful soul is still only human in nature—”
“None of the above, jackass!”
This bold interruption sparks the figurative flame of how he feels about them. Deep, bitter rage rises in Madison Altair's throat as they call him that /fucking word/, his magic-supported mind pushing away the pain it triggers to give the young divinity room to gain strength to avenge its cruel intention instead. Their intentional string pulls are just another reason to get them the Hell out of here.
“I'm a god too right now, strong enough to keep your power out of my head, stronger than /you/ and your lame-ass, timeline-restrained, obsessively controlling domain, for sure!“ He wasn't sure, yesterday, but now, after lots of mantras, for the purposes of this, and maybe, if he can prove it, for the foreseeable future, Mads /knows/ he's stronger, better, and fully out of His god's reach.
They spend long enough silently uncomprehending of such a change that Mads takes the opportunity to keep taunting the puppet to its face, stepping aggressively forward and looking it in the eyes. “I had this place perfect and then you brought your shitty psychological torture chamber and gross personal problems into /my/ awesome space and fucked it all up.”
The lecture is so intense that the puppet actually flinches, though manages to insert a response before its matching soul continues. “You are no god, merely a pretender. This domain you call your '/awesome space/' is mine; theft does not alter ownership, and I have every right to reclaim it.”
“No you fucking don't. If you wanted it back you shoulda said so back when I got it, months ago, fully on accident, y'know; I didn't steal your shit on purpose, it wasn't even /hard/.” He laughs in their face and shoves the puppet bodily, taking a stomping step forward. From where his foot makes contact with the marbled floor a pulse of purple light emanates outward, making several brighter green eyes flinch shut. Spreading from under his foot, the surface starts to turn solid, vivid Mads Altair Purple, an effect that immediately draws every eye's attention. The god can feel intense divinity surging through him, connecting with the metaphysical material he's already so familiar with and with every confident word saturating it with his own soul, entirely displacing the other god's temperate, unresisting passive energy with his intense and willful power.
”It was in /my/ soul all this time, I can change it as well as you can, and now I'm going to claim it properly, my friend told me how. Because my friends are smarter than you, and gave me everything I need to evict your ass. Here's 1 of those objective facts you love: this piece of the Astral Plane belongs to me and me alone, and there's nothing you can do about it.“ Mads Altair lets go of his grounding point and steps firmly forward again, another footprint of color staking his claim, and tosses the puppet aside bodily, its strings following. Considering a moment, he turns to the couch, hands in his pockets, and kicks it over with 1 foot and a loud thud. He always hated that fucking couch, and it's not as satisfying as it should be to see it destroyed like that.
”It's /mine/. End. Of. Story.“
The couch dissolves into purple sparks when the growing patches of colored floor spread beneath it at a steady pace, and Mads looks up at the darting, panicked eyes with a dark, smug grin. ”So this is our opposing forces of will, huh? What's wrong, getting nervous? Not so sure if you're in control anymore? Good! You're not. Now get out of my fucking way.“
He doesn't need to reach down and put his hands to the surface of the plane like he did before; with this power, he doesn't even need to make further contact. All it takes is Mads Altair raising his hands and slamming them fisted downward with intent to cause another shockwave of increasingly dense sparks to radiate around him, not just coloring the floor now but spreading beyond it, expanding into the previously vast, open area Sarandiel had turned into an awful little box. It grows beyond the cramped vicinity of the eyes, all they can do is watch, and perhaps finally get a word in.
“You cannot possibly- this is not how it works, I will not permit it. I will NOT PERMIT IT--” Too shocked to actively resist, only now do they realize the firmness required to push back, but it's already too late.
Though the protesting puppet dissolves as well, the initial open door remains after everything, the green and white funnel within floating now at the far edge of the visible plane where it had been created. Reaching back to squeeze Cookie's hand again, Mads releases it and steps toward the door without hesitance or fear, under the deeply hateful gaze of dozens of eyes and with green strings of light extending towards him only to vaporize in his glowing aura.
“Alright, Sarandiel, you bastard, get the Hell out of my domain,” The god announces, eyes blazing like 2 suns in the sky, “And /don't come back/.”
The door is slammed near-violently shut without allowing Sarandiel another word, turns purple, and quickly dissolves into sparks. Every green eye floating in the void blinks out and in moments colored sparks come rushing back in from where they'd been repelled, gold, pink and purple clouds interrupting the dark. Brushing his hands together like he's cleaning them off, a massive, satisfied smirk on his face, Madison Altair turns back to the fully purple surface of the wide piece of Astral Domain that he's claimed, as well as his ecstatically proud boyfriend. Cookie waits only until Mads has thrown his arms in the air and cheered goofily at his own accomplishment to throw himself into the god's arms, pulling him into a passionate kiss that's onscreen for all of half of a second before the recording ends.
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Results are in! Friend-buffed Madison Altair is the cooler better stronger god! Christ I'm glad that went well or it could have really not. But it didn't! And it couldn't have. Because I did great and the place is all mine now and they're completely fucking gone. I'm gonna go have some celebratory ice cream cake. Don't worry about how I did the filming thing the camera isn't real anyways it's fine.
