When the Stars Align Darkly
While the phenomenon of ley lines is well-known among esoteric circles as a terrestrial occurrence, few grasp the deeper truth: the underlying metaphysical energies of the universe are not bound to planets alone.
Beyond the surface of any world exists a vast web of celestial and even interdimensional conduits—threads of power sometimes called stellar strings or dimensional filaments. These energy lines function similarly to terrestrial ley lines, but on a cosmic scale. They interlace through stars, orbiting bodies, higher planes of existence, and the dark gulfs between dimensions.
Just as ley lines can ripple, surge, or falter in response to earthly events, these greater threads respond to cosmic stimuli—the shifting of stars, the dance of planetary alignments, the passage of forgotten comets, and the rare synchronization of dimensional harmonics.
It is this vast, unseen network that lies at the heart of celestial magic, and explains why so many ancient rites demand the timing of solstices, eclipses, or conjunctions. Such alignments do not merely symbolize transformation—they cause it, resonating across the stellar filaments and awakening forces far beyond mortal comprehension.
While the magical power—whether for good or ill—that can be drawn from celestial events has long been observed, most such energies are benign or at least neutral in nature.
Eclipses, solstices, planetary conjunctions—these are moments of flux, of opportunity. Mages, mystics, and esoteric engineers have harnessed such timings for millennia to empower spells, open portals, or commune with higher realms.
But like all things in the metaphysical order, there is an exception.
A rare and whispered phenomenon known only to the most reclusive occultists and star-sighted scholars:
When the Stars Align Darkly.
This is no simple planetary alignment, no elegant geometry of light and gravity. It is a confluence of stellar threads, a moment when certain celestial and interdimensional leylines resonate in malignant harmony.
It is neither forecasted by astrologers nor charted by astronomers. Its signs are buried in the grimoires that bleed ink when read aloud, in the bones of dead gods left scattered across cursed asteroids, and in the dreams of the unwell who speak languages they never learned.
When the Stars Align Darkly, the veil between form and potential collapses. Transformation is not a gift. It is a compulsion. A pulling of the soul toward an origin it was never meant to touch.
Some ascend. Others unravel. Many become something else entirely.
It is said that when the Stars Align Darkly, they do not merely create channels of energy—but open windows to alien gods.
Not the gods of man, with their recognizable flaws and familiar grandeur, but ancient, unthinkable entities—beings whose forms defy geometry and whose motives operate on scales that annihilate comprehension. They are not good or evil, not wrathful or benevolent. They simply are.
And for the mad, the desperate, or the power-hungry, such alignments represent a terrible and intoxicating opportunity.
Provided, of course, that one knows how to reach through the window.
The methods by which these dark alignments are harnessed vary wildly, but all share common threads:
They are old—older than any surviving culture, predating even the earliest myth cycles.
They are forbidden, hidden in extinct languages, interdimensional harmonics, or inscribed on bones not native to any Earth.
And they are dangerous, not just to the practitioner, but to the fabric of self, society, and sometimes reality itself.
Some rites are magical, drawing on celestial timing and symbolic sacrifice.
Others are psionic, requiring mental contact with things that should not be named, much less understood.
Most are hybrid rituals, blending the worst of both—twisted mantras spoken through fractal sigils, meditations that rupture the soul, or communion with dreaming minds that broadcast sanity-rending truths across dimensions.
Even among warlocks, mad scholars, and black-psion cults, there is a rare consensus: These things should not be called.
But when the stars whisper?
Someone always listens.
What exactly may be touched—or touch Earth—during these events varies with the nature of the Dark Alignment and the intent of those who seek to exploit it.
Some call forth ancient concept-beings: sentient archetypes birthed from the deepest astral trenches, shaped not by matter, but by the fears, hatreds, and traumas of long-extinct civilizations. Others reach beings composed of the nightmares of alien minds—creatures that evolved in galaxies whose stars have already died, whose thoughts twist around geometries we do not possess words for.
There are shapeless horrors, amorphous and mist-wreathed, drifting in the liminal fogs of the Ethereal Plane, imprisoned long ago in the grey spaces between realities. These were not exiled lightly. Their banishment was not punishment—but protection, a desperate act by higher powers to quarantine what should never touch form or will again.
And there are those who contact true alien divinities—gods in every sense of the word, but born on worlds light-years from our own. These beings shaped, or were shaped by, sapient races whose biology, morality, and metaphysics are utterly incompatible with our own. They are not evil, not malicious—they are simply other. And their gaze alone is often enough to fracture the soul.
What remains constant, however, is this:
Through these Dark Alignments, they can be called.
The window opens. Their attention may drift. Their influence may seep through. Sometimes, so too does their flesh, in forms ill-suited to our dimensions.
And in those moments, their presence may be evoked—not summoned in the crude sense, but manifested through rites so profane, so repellent, that even the most depraved demonologists blanch at their invocation. These are rituals that make typical fel magic look like a children’s séance, and render sacrificial blood magic almost quaint by comparison.
The cost of such power is never measured in coin or spell components.
It is paid in identity, in sanity, in the structural integrity of the soul—and sometimes, the world.
Beyond the surface of any world exists a vast web of celestial and even interdimensional conduits—threads of power sometimes called stellar strings or dimensional filaments. These energy lines function similarly to terrestrial ley lines, but on a cosmic scale. They interlace through stars, orbiting bodies, higher planes of existence, and the dark gulfs between dimensions.
Just as ley lines can ripple, surge, or falter in response to earthly events, these greater threads respond to cosmic stimuli—the shifting of stars, the dance of planetary alignments, the passage of forgotten comets, and the rare synchronization of dimensional harmonics.
It is this vast, unseen network that lies at the heart of celestial magic, and explains why so many ancient rites demand the timing of solstices, eclipses, or conjunctions. Such alignments do not merely symbolize transformation—they cause it, resonating across the stellar filaments and awakening forces far beyond mortal comprehension.
While the magical power—whether for good or ill—that can be drawn from celestial events has long been observed, most such energies are benign or at least neutral in nature.
Eclipses, solstices, planetary conjunctions—these are moments of flux, of opportunity. Mages, mystics, and esoteric engineers have harnessed such timings for millennia to empower spells, open portals, or commune with higher realms.
But like all things in the metaphysical order, there is an exception.
A rare and whispered phenomenon known only to the most reclusive occultists and star-sighted scholars:
When the Stars Align Darkly.
This is no simple planetary alignment, no elegant geometry of light and gravity. It is a confluence of stellar threads, a moment when certain celestial and interdimensional leylines resonate in malignant harmony.
It is neither forecasted by astrologers nor charted by astronomers. Its signs are buried in the grimoires that bleed ink when read aloud, in the bones of dead gods left scattered across cursed asteroids, and in the dreams of the unwell who speak languages they never learned.
When the Stars Align Darkly, the veil between form and potential collapses. Transformation is not a gift. It is a compulsion. A pulling of the soul toward an origin it was never meant to touch.
Some ascend. Others unravel. Many become something else entirely.
It is said that when the Stars Align Darkly, they do not merely create channels of energy—but open windows to alien gods.
Not the gods of man, with their recognizable flaws and familiar grandeur, but ancient, unthinkable entities—beings whose forms defy geometry and whose motives operate on scales that annihilate comprehension. They are not good or evil, not wrathful or benevolent. They simply are.
And for the mad, the desperate, or the power-hungry, such alignments represent a terrible and intoxicating opportunity.
Provided, of course, that one knows how to reach through the window.
The methods by which these dark alignments are harnessed vary wildly, but all share common threads:
They are old—older than any surviving culture, predating even the earliest myth cycles.
They are forbidden, hidden in extinct languages, interdimensional harmonics, or inscribed on bones not native to any Earth.
And they are dangerous, not just to the practitioner, but to the fabric of self, society, and sometimes reality itself.
Some rites are magical, drawing on celestial timing and symbolic sacrifice.
Others are psionic, requiring mental contact with things that should not be named, much less understood.
Most are hybrid rituals, blending the worst of both—twisted mantras spoken through fractal sigils, meditations that rupture the soul, or communion with dreaming minds that broadcast sanity-rending truths across dimensions.
Even among warlocks, mad scholars, and black-psion cults, there is a rare consensus: These things should not be called.
But when the stars whisper?
Someone always listens.
What exactly may be touched—or touch Earth—during these events varies with the nature of the Dark Alignment and the intent of those who seek to exploit it.
Some call forth ancient concept-beings: sentient archetypes birthed from the deepest astral trenches, shaped not by matter, but by the fears, hatreds, and traumas of long-extinct civilizations. Others reach beings composed of the nightmares of alien minds—creatures that evolved in galaxies whose stars have already died, whose thoughts twist around geometries we do not possess words for.
There are shapeless horrors, amorphous and mist-wreathed, drifting in the liminal fogs of the Ethereal Plane, imprisoned long ago in the grey spaces between realities. These were not exiled lightly. Their banishment was not punishment—but protection, a desperate act by higher powers to quarantine what should never touch form or will again.
And there are those who contact true alien divinities—gods in every sense of the word, but born on worlds light-years from our own. These beings shaped, or were shaped by, sapient races whose biology, morality, and metaphysics are utterly incompatible with our own. They are not evil, not malicious—they are simply other. And their gaze alone is often enough to fracture the soul.
What remains constant, however, is this:
Through these Dark Alignments, they can be called.
The window opens. Their attention may drift. Their influence may seep through. Sometimes, so too does their flesh, in forms ill-suited to our dimensions.
And in those moments, their presence may be evoked—not summoned in the crude sense, but manifested through rites so profane, so repellent, that even the most depraved demonologists blanch at their invocation. These are rituals that make typical fel magic look like a children’s séance, and render sacrificial blood magic almost quaint by comparison.
The cost of such power is never measured in coin or spell components.
It is paid in identity, in sanity, in the structural integrity of the soul—and sometimes, the world.
Manifestation
Mercifully, unless actively focused through dark ritual and fel acts, most Dark Alignments pass without event. To the uninitiated, they are little more than distant flickers in the sky—rare, brief, and harmless. Their geometry, though ominous, is too brief, too complex, or too esoteric to resonate with most of Earth’s energies.
The true danger lies not in the alignment itself, but in what it allows—the opening, however momentary, through which forbidden power may be drawn by those willing and prepared to act.
No two Dark Alignments are exactly alike. Yet nearly all share a disturbing pattern: transformation and the bestowal of unnatural power.
Some practitioners take this power into themselves, reshaping flesh and soul in pursuit of personal power. Others use the moment to birth terrible things—servants, spawn, or vessels shaped by alien will. The results vary wildly:
Some emerge grotesquely mutated, their bodies twisted by energies not meant to animate terrestrial life.
Others remain eerily human in appearance, yet rot from the inside with psychic disease, dimensional instability, or metaphysical taint.
They may appear stable. They may even pass as normal for a time. But something is always wrong. A smell. A twitch. A presence.
Those changed by such alignments are whispered of in esoteric circles as the Unwanted—a term spoken with caution, dread, and often pity.
These are the failed heirs of dark power—those touched by gods that should not be touched. They may possess great strength, strange gifts, or glimpses of secret knowledge, but they are unclean, untrusted, and unwelcome among even the most fringe magical orders.
Some shamble back to isolation, others become cult leaders, monsters, or worse. A few are studied from afar—like ticking bombs of alien influence.
Occasionally, they breed.
And that is when the trouble begins anew.
There are reported examples of the Unwanted scattered throughout human history—terrible beings whose nature cannot be easily attributed to any known magical, psionic, or divine source.
In ancient times, they were called mistakenly called demons, changelings, or more correctly and simply, abominations—often hunted, buried in forgotten texts, or venerated in isolated cults. In the modern era, they have bled into nightmarish folklore, appeared in bizarre cryptid sightings, or haunted the mind-shattering fringes of conspiracy theory forums and classified black-site archives.
Each Unwanted is unique, the product of an alignment, a ritual, and a moment in which cosmic power lanced into flesh. Yet their nature often hints at the entity or principle responsible for their creation.
Some wear their wrongness on the outside. Others carry it deep within, like a rot that waits to bloom.
They may include, but are far from limited to:
Pelagic Horrors
Born of astral oceans or alien tides, these Unwanted are bloated, barnacle-encrusted monstrosities, reeking of brine and old blood, trailing invisible strands that erode sanity. Some crawl from inland lakes after strange alignments. Others are found washed ashore during red moons—dead, twitching, or still breathing beneath sealed flesh.
Mutant Hulks
Towering figures whose skin sloughs like wax, oozing toxin, blood, and irradiated bile. Their voices cause migraines. Their dreams warp electronics. Often mistaken for failed super-soldier experiments or nuclear fallout victims—until they begin speaking in alien dialects no one taught them.
The Human-Seeming Wrong
These are perhaps the most unsettling—individuals who look normal but radiate a palpable wrongness.
Their presence causes plants to wither or grow twisted.
Insects avoid them entirely.
Domesticated animals react with terror, aggression, or catatonia. They may be attractive, even charismatic—but always off, as if their soul hums on a frequency just slightly out of sync with reality.
The Cold-Soul Children
Young ones born of cursed bloodlines or touched in utero during an alignment. They never cry. They stare too long. Their shadows twitch independently, and their laughter never quite matches the emotion behind it. Some develop voices too deep for their lungs. Others start drawing things they should not know. Parents disappear. Rooms grow cold.
Faceless Wards and Forgotten Guests
Once humans that now mimic human form, but cannot quite finish it.
Their faces are blurred in photographs.
No one remembers exactly when they arrived.
They occupy homes, towns, or families like parasites of identity.
Their names change subtly over time. You might be sure you’ve met them before—but you can’t remember where.
The Echoed
Not quite people. Not quite ghosts. The Echoed appear as distorted duplicates of real individuals—often just slightly wrong in voice, gait, or memory. They claim to be the original. Sometimes they are. Others are dimensional bleedthroughs, shards, or failed attempts at reincarnation by something incomprehensible.
Chitinous Things
Skittering hybrids of flesh and shell, these Unwanted bear the mark of insectoid divinities or hive-mind horrors.
Their joints move with unnatural precision.
Their voices click, grind, or hum in frequencies meant for antennae, not ears.
Skin may flake away to reveal segmented armor, compound eyes, or hidden limbs.
Some are solitary. Others come in pairs or broods—"born" of egg sacs, molted from stolen husks, or formed fully grown in impossible nests built beneath cities.
Where they gather, people vanish.
And sometimes they leave behind hives—still pulsing.
The Amorphous
Shifting, protean forms unstable in mass, identity, or composition.
They flow like syrup, vanish like gas, or solidify mid-sentence.
Their flesh sometimes remembers past shapes—faces that flicker and melt.
Witnesses describe them as living uncertainty.
They may seek cohesion. Or they may not care at all.
The Living Dead (Not to be Confused with True Undead)
Not raised by necromancy. Not animated by spell or ritual. These beings are alive, biologically—but should not be.
Their hearts beat out of rhythm.
Their blood is wrong.
Some remember dying. Some were never born or alive in any natural sense.
Others are corpses re-seeded with alien soul sparks—living graves inhabited by uninvited tenants.
They do not decay, but they are always rotting in some deeper sense.
Bio-Mechanical Aberrations
Flesh twisted with metal, glass, and living circuitry—not grafted, but grown in patterns guided by alien logic.
They pulse with energy that doesn’t register on human instruments.
Wounds reveal veins filled with oil, bones of alloy, or nerve clusters of crystal.
Some sing to machines. Others scream through them.
These are not cyborgs—they are biological prayers answered in mechanical form.
Nightmares Made Flesh
Not summoned. Not born. Dreamed into existence during a Dark Alignment by a mind that touched the void.
Their forms defy physics—elongated shadows, holes in space, flickering between scenes.
They weep without eyes.
Their presence evokes déjà vu, nausea, and migraines.
They are real. Until they aren’t. And then they are again.
All Unwanted share one trait:
They carry a spark—a core of dark, cosmic, or astral power, sometimes active, sometimes dormant.
Some are used by cults or secret orders.
Others are hunted, dissected, or sealed away by hidden organizations.
A rare few become living conduits, ticking down toward the next Alignment… when their "parent" may try again.
The true danger lies not in the alignment itself, but in what it allows—the opening, however momentary, through which forbidden power may be drawn by those willing and prepared to act.
No two Dark Alignments are exactly alike. Yet nearly all share a disturbing pattern: transformation and the bestowal of unnatural power.
Some practitioners take this power into themselves, reshaping flesh and soul in pursuit of personal power. Others use the moment to birth terrible things—servants, spawn, or vessels shaped by alien will. The results vary wildly:
Some emerge grotesquely mutated, their bodies twisted by energies not meant to animate terrestrial life.
Others remain eerily human in appearance, yet rot from the inside with psychic disease, dimensional instability, or metaphysical taint.
They may appear stable. They may even pass as normal for a time. But something is always wrong. A smell. A twitch. A presence.
Those changed by such alignments are whispered of in esoteric circles as the Unwanted—a term spoken with caution, dread, and often pity.
These are the failed heirs of dark power—those touched by gods that should not be touched. They may possess great strength, strange gifts, or glimpses of secret knowledge, but they are unclean, untrusted, and unwelcome among even the most fringe magical orders.
Some shamble back to isolation, others become cult leaders, monsters, or worse. A few are studied from afar—like ticking bombs of alien influence.
Occasionally, they breed.
And that is when the trouble begins anew.
There are reported examples of the Unwanted scattered throughout human history—terrible beings whose nature cannot be easily attributed to any known magical, psionic, or divine source.
In ancient times, they were called mistakenly called demons, changelings, or more correctly and simply, abominations—often hunted, buried in forgotten texts, or venerated in isolated cults. In the modern era, they have bled into nightmarish folklore, appeared in bizarre cryptid sightings, or haunted the mind-shattering fringes of conspiracy theory forums and classified black-site archives.
Each Unwanted is unique, the product of an alignment, a ritual, and a moment in which cosmic power lanced into flesh. Yet their nature often hints at the entity or principle responsible for their creation.
Some wear their wrongness on the outside. Others carry it deep within, like a rot that waits to bloom.
They may include, but are far from limited to:
Pelagic Horrors
Born of astral oceans or alien tides, these Unwanted are bloated, barnacle-encrusted monstrosities, reeking of brine and old blood, trailing invisible strands that erode sanity. Some crawl from inland lakes after strange alignments. Others are found washed ashore during red moons—dead, twitching, or still breathing beneath sealed flesh.
Mutant Hulks
Towering figures whose skin sloughs like wax, oozing toxin, blood, and irradiated bile. Their voices cause migraines. Their dreams warp electronics. Often mistaken for failed super-soldier experiments or nuclear fallout victims—until they begin speaking in alien dialects no one taught them.
The Human-Seeming Wrong
These are perhaps the most unsettling—individuals who look normal but radiate a palpable wrongness.
Their presence causes plants to wither or grow twisted.
Insects avoid them entirely.
Domesticated animals react with terror, aggression, or catatonia. They may be attractive, even charismatic—but always off, as if their soul hums on a frequency just slightly out of sync with reality.
The Cold-Soul Children
Young ones born of cursed bloodlines or touched in utero during an alignment. They never cry. They stare too long. Their shadows twitch independently, and their laughter never quite matches the emotion behind it. Some develop voices too deep for their lungs. Others start drawing things they should not know. Parents disappear. Rooms grow cold.
Faceless Wards and Forgotten Guests
Once humans that now mimic human form, but cannot quite finish it.
Their faces are blurred in photographs.
No one remembers exactly when they arrived.
They occupy homes, towns, or families like parasites of identity.
Their names change subtly over time. You might be sure you’ve met them before—but you can’t remember where.
The Echoed
Not quite people. Not quite ghosts. The Echoed appear as distorted duplicates of real individuals—often just slightly wrong in voice, gait, or memory. They claim to be the original. Sometimes they are. Others are dimensional bleedthroughs, shards, or failed attempts at reincarnation by something incomprehensible.
Chitinous Things
Skittering hybrids of flesh and shell, these Unwanted bear the mark of insectoid divinities or hive-mind horrors.
Their joints move with unnatural precision.
Their voices click, grind, or hum in frequencies meant for antennae, not ears.
Skin may flake away to reveal segmented armor, compound eyes, or hidden limbs.
Some are solitary. Others come in pairs or broods—"born" of egg sacs, molted from stolen husks, or formed fully grown in impossible nests built beneath cities.
Where they gather, people vanish.
And sometimes they leave behind hives—still pulsing.
The Amorphous
Shifting, protean forms unstable in mass, identity, or composition.
They flow like syrup, vanish like gas, or solidify mid-sentence.
Their flesh sometimes remembers past shapes—faces that flicker and melt.
Witnesses describe them as living uncertainty.
They may seek cohesion. Or they may not care at all.
The Living Dead (Not to be Confused with True Undead)
Not raised by necromancy. Not animated by spell or ritual. These beings are alive, biologically—but should not be.
Their hearts beat out of rhythm.
Their blood is wrong.
Some remember dying. Some were never born or alive in any natural sense.
Others are corpses re-seeded with alien soul sparks—living graves inhabited by uninvited tenants.
They do not decay, but they are always rotting in some deeper sense.
Bio-Mechanical Aberrations
Flesh twisted with metal, glass, and living circuitry—not grafted, but grown in patterns guided by alien logic.
They pulse with energy that doesn’t register on human instruments.
Wounds reveal veins filled with oil, bones of alloy, or nerve clusters of crystal.
Some sing to machines. Others scream through them.
These are not cyborgs—they are biological prayers answered in mechanical form.
Nightmares Made Flesh
Not summoned. Not born. Dreamed into existence during a Dark Alignment by a mind that touched the void.
Their forms defy physics—elongated shadows, holes in space, flickering between scenes.
They weep without eyes.
Their presence evokes déjà vu, nausea, and migraines.
They are real. Until they aren’t. And then they are again.
All Unwanted share one trait:
They carry a spark—a core of dark, cosmic, or astral power, sometimes active, sometimes dormant.
Some are used by cults or secret orders.
Others are hunted, dissected, or sealed away by hidden organizations.
A rare few become living conduits, ticking down toward the next Alignment… when their "parent" may try again.
Localization
While terrifyingly more common on Earth—in the L-E-G-C-10-3 dimension—the emergence of the Unwanted is not limited to our world alone. Earth’s position on a deep esoteric nexus, where multiple terrestrial, celestial, and interdimensional leylines converge, makes it especially susceptible to the effects of Dark Alignments.
But any world with sufficient magical or psionic latency, paired with knowledge of the such terrible ancient ways, can become a birthing ground.
Across the known galaxy—and in some records, across timelines—there are whispered accounts of civilizations that have succumbed, vanished, or transformed entirely under the influence of Unwanted proliferation. Some now exist only in fractured myths and planetary ruins; others endure, masked as gods, devils, or cryptic blood cults.
On Earth, entire cults and secret lineages tainted by Unwanted forbearers dwell in shadow. Some lurk in rural dead-zones, living half-feral lives by torchlight. Others have infiltrated urban centers, hiding in plain sight among the homeless, the fringe, the elite, or the digitally untraceable.
Even more chilling: some walk freely among us, never knowing what they are.
Though the taint of the Unwanted is strongest in the first generation, its echo can linger across bloodlines, influencing minds, bodies, and dreams for centuries. As generations pass, descendants become increasingly human-seeming, often classed as Homo Sapiens Extraordinarius aka Extras—born with minor supernatural quirks, psychic sensitivities, or erratic mutations.
Yet not all Unwanted bloodlines fade.
Some intentionally preserve the corruption, practicing ritualized inbreeding, selective pairings, and dark fertility rites meant to maintain proximity to the original alien spark. These families often keep to themselves, worshiping dead stars or forgotten entities, believing their progenitors to have been blessed, not cursed.
Such bloodlines often operate as:
Rural cults, preserving esoteric practices under a veneer of local superstition.
Occult aristocracies, posing as old money with private estates, breeding programs, and arcane laboratories.
Religious schismatics, hiding their rites behind fractured theology and corrupted scripture.
Or worse—governmental shadows, embedded into state mechanisms, protecting their own under the guise of intelligence operations or arcane research.
Whether hiding in the hollows, beneath boardrooms, or in orbiting research vessels—the Unwanted persist.
They breed.
They plan.
They wait.
Because the stars always come back around.
In all but the most twisted, broken, or irredeemably corrupted cultures, the Unwanted are not revered—they are reviled. Their existence represents a breach in the natural order so profound that even those who routinely traffic in darkness consider them anathema.
Witches bound to hellish patrons, who gleefully summon demons and make infernal pacts, will still hunt the Unwanted when they surface—binding, banishing, or burning them to ash, lest their stain spread.
Servants of Earth’s elder gods, ancient and often malign in their own right, have been known to put aside blood feuds and rival cultic agendas to purge even a hint of an Unwanted infestation. To them, the Unwanted are not rivals—they are blasphemies that draw attention from forces older and other than even the Old Gods dare acknowledge.
Even alien entities, threats in their own right who stalk Earth for conquest, consumption, or study, regard the Unwanted as a mutual hazard. Some interstellar powers possess long-lost war records and scarred planetary memories of Unwanted outbreaks—worlds ruined, populations devoured, and pantheons unmade by a single improperly sealed ritual. Such beings may act, if only to preserve their own ambitions.
And of course, forces of balance, natural law, and cosmic equilibrium—whether mystical, divine, or scientific—view the Unwanted as existential contaminations.
They are not merely dangerous.
They are invitations.
To corruption.
To collapse.
To attention.
Because where the Unwanted thrive, their patrons take notice.
And every alignment… is a beacon.
Thus, across cultures and species—be they angelic, infernal, divine, alien, or arcane—there exists a rare unity:
The Unwanted must be purged.
But any world with sufficient magical or psionic latency, paired with knowledge of the such terrible ancient ways, can become a birthing ground.
Across the known galaxy—and in some records, across timelines—there are whispered accounts of civilizations that have succumbed, vanished, or transformed entirely under the influence of Unwanted proliferation. Some now exist only in fractured myths and planetary ruins; others endure, masked as gods, devils, or cryptic blood cults.
On Earth, entire cults and secret lineages tainted by Unwanted forbearers dwell in shadow. Some lurk in rural dead-zones, living half-feral lives by torchlight. Others have infiltrated urban centers, hiding in plain sight among the homeless, the fringe, the elite, or the digitally untraceable.
Even more chilling: some walk freely among us, never knowing what they are.
Though the taint of the Unwanted is strongest in the first generation, its echo can linger across bloodlines, influencing minds, bodies, and dreams for centuries. As generations pass, descendants become increasingly human-seeming, often classed as Homo Sapiens Extraordinarius aka Extras—born with minor supernatural quirks, psychic sensitivities, or erratic mutations.
Yet not all Unwanted bloodlines fade.
Some intentionally preserve the corruption, practicing ritualized inbreeding, selective pairings, and dark fertility rites meant to maintain proximity to the original alien spark. These families often keep to themselves, worshiping dead stars or forgotten entities, believing their progenitors to have been blessed, not cursed.
Such bloodlines often operate as:
Rural cults, preserving esoteric practices under a veneer of local superstition.
Occult aristocracies, posing as old money with private estates, breeding programs, and arcane laboratories.
Religious schismatics, hiding their rites behind fractured theology and corrupted scripture.
Or worse—governmental shadows, embedded into state mechanisms, protecting their own under the guise of intelligence operations or arcane research.
Whether hiding in the hollows, beneath boardrooms, or in orbiting research vessels—the Unwanted persist.
They breed.
They plan.
They wait.
Because the stars always come back around.
In all but the most twisted, broken, or irredeemably corrupted cultures, the Unwanted are not revered—they are reviled. Their existence represents a breach in the natural order so profound that even those who routinely traffic in darkness consider them anathema.
Witches bound to hellish patrons, who gleefully summon demons and make infernal pacts, will still hunt the Unwanted when they surface—binding, banishing, or burning them to ash, lest their stain spread.
Servants of Earth’s elder gods, ancient and often malign in their own right, have been known to put aside blood feuds and rival cultic agendas to purge even a hint of an Unwanted infestation. To them, the Unwanted are not rivals—they are blasphemies that draw attention from forces older and other than even the Old Gods dare acknowledge.
Even alien entities, threats in their own right who stalk Earth for conquest, consumption, or study, regard the Unwanted as a mutual hazard. Some interstellar powers possess long-lost war records and scarred planetary memories of Unwanted outbreaks—worlds ruined, populations devoured, and pantheons unmade by a single improperly sealed ritual. Such beings may act, if only to preserve their own ambitions.
And of course, forces of balance, natural law, and cosmic equilibrium—whether mystical, divine, or scientific—view the Unwanted as existential contaminations.
They are not merely dangerous.
They are invitations.
To corruption.
To collapse.
To attention.
Because where the Unwanted thrive, their patrons take notice.
And every alignment… is a beacon.
Thus, across cultures and species—be they angelic, infernal, divine, alien, or arcane—there exists a rare unity:
The Unwanted must be purged.
Type
Metaphysical
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