In a subterranean chamber powerful beings are bored and play at dice.
Flashing through a nebula, a space ship changes course, describing a long, bright green parabola before vanishing into the interstellar darkness.
A man waits, sitting on a rock. The mountains are behind him, the sea spreads out five hundred feet below. A wind is playing with the long brown grass the summer grew beside the rock.
An evil will is working in this universe, seeping into the cosmos like black die into clear waters. A being of greater dimension descending into ours seeks absolute power.
The message arrives, the bored look up and move with determination. Deftly now, the ships arise from off a frozen planet where the mountains watch. They are all determination, narrowed eyes.
The man stands up, and lifts his gaze at the translucent skies so full of stars. He watches the winking out of light, he sees the streaking ships.
They fail, and still the threat grows strong. The last sacrifice is prepared, and chaos teems waiting to be born. A power station fails; but new-born owl-eyed Minerva does not fail.
The man watches as all the stars again blaze forth, and midwinter passes away. And afterward a beetle crawls over the heat-sensing moss, searching patiently for food.